


the end (of missing you)

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: The rain still hasn’t let up when there’s knocking on the door. Felix would feel worse for the delivery driver, had he not already added a 25% tip on top of the cash he pulls out of his wallet. He goes to the door, nudging his still drying shoes out of the way, and swings it open. He expects a ragged, slightly grumpy delivery driver, holding a rained upon bag of greasy take out.He is not expecting Sylvain Jose Gautier.“Hey,” Sylvain greets, leaning against the doorframe. He’s trying to be suave, collected, as if he and Felix hadn’t stopped speaking to each other the day Sylvain dropped out of college. As if it hadn’t been two full years since Felix had last seen him. As if there hadn’t been a single day since that Felix hadn’t had a worry, deep in his brain, that Sylvain had ended up dead somewhere. “Can I sleep on your couch for a week?”.Two years after he vanished from Felix’s life, Sylvain shows up on his doorstep, needing a place to sleep.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 293





	the end (of missing you)

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively: Sylvain leaves behind his life as the heir to Gautier's fortune, and gets a job as a stocker at target.
> 
> this uhhhh. got out of hand. quickly. this was supposed to be five thousand words, max. i don't know what happened. it's 20k of pure self-indulgence.

The rain has lasted all day.

Ingrid had sent him a text that morning, when he had just gotten out of bed to start getting ready, warning him that rain was on the forecast and he should bring an umbrella. In a fit of stubborness, Felix had refused to allow her to mother him, which meant that halfway through his walk to campus, the sky opened up, and he had been drenched in seconds. He had endured the pointed looks Ingrid had given him when he met up with her and Dimitri for lunch, ignoring any of the other advice she could’ve given, deciding suffering in silence was better than anything else. 

The downpour hasn’t let up in the slightest since it began and it’s nearly five in the evening. He’s spent the entire day in a state of _damp_. The walk back to his home from campus isn’t awful, despite the rain. It isn’t great, but it’s not bad to the point that he takes Dimitri up on the offer of a ride home. Felix steels himself under the hood of his damp jacket, shoulders hunched, as he counts down the steps towards his apartment. As soon as he ducks under the awning shielding the walkway up to his apartment, he takes his hood off, shaking his head slightly to dislodge the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He makes his way up the stairs, looking forward to nothing more than spending his Friday evening wrapped up in a warm blanket after a hot shower.

His shoes _squelch_ when he steps inside, making him frown. The tiles of the entrance way immediately starts collecting puddles beneath him. He bends to slip his shoes off, leaving them where they sit as he tosses his keys on top of the shoe cupboard by the door. He heads deeper inside, past the kitchen and to the bathroom, dropping his bag off as he goes. He peels himself out of his wet clothes, shivering immediately. It’s not even that cold outside. He’s just angry and soaked.

It takes him less than fifteen minutes to change into dry clothes, toss his comforter into the dryer to heat up, and clean the trail of water he’s left throughout the apartment. If he let the water ruin the hardwood floors, he doubts his father would _say_ anything, but the disappointed looks he’d give Felix would be enough to irritate him. 

He hates relying on his father’s money. The feeling always settles deep within his chest whenever he notices the bills get paid without him even asking. His father had been adamant about handling the finances when Felix had had to move into an apartment near campus for a summer program before his third year at university. Felix knows that he’s incredibly lucky his father _is_ willing, and that his family has the money to back it up. He knows Ashe’s boyfriend works two jobs to help support them while Ashe focuses on his studies, but the feeling of owing his father more than Felix already does always leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Not that his father has even _implied_ he expects Felix to pay him back. He thinks that makes it worse.

As soon as Felix finishes cleaning, he bundles himself up in his warmed up blanket, curling up in the armchair in his living room as he orders dinner to be delivered. He looks over his coursework while he waits, but he truly doesn’t have much that still needs to be done. He had spent most of his morning working, since Professor Manuela had cancelled their class five minutes before the lecture was supposed to start. He had gone to the café that he met Ingrid and Dimitri at three times a week, arriving nearly an hour and a half early and just camping out in the corner on his laptop until the others arrived. 

The rain still hasn’t let up when there’s knocking on the door. Felix would feel worse for the delivery driver, had he not already added a 25% tip on top of the cash he pulls out of his wallet. He goes to the door, nudging his still drying shoes out of the way, and swings it open. He expects a ragged, slightly grumpy delivery driver, holding a rained upon bag of greasy take out. 

He is not expecting Sylvain Jose Gautier.

Felix can remember the exact day he had last seen Sylvain. Four days into Felix’s sophomore year of college; four days into Sylvain’s _final_ year of college. They had gotten into a routine of meeting up on campus before their respective 8AMs to snag tea and coffee. Sylvain’s smile had been _off_ that day, and Felix remembers asking him if he had drank too much the night before. Sylvain had laughed, agreeing, saying he wasn’t feeling great, and that he was probably going to head home to sleep it off. 

It was two days later, two days of Sylvain ignoring his calls and texts, that Glenn had told Felix about Miklan. Any other phone calls, texts, emails, from any of them had gone ignored, until Felix had stopped chasing, stopped trying to pinpoint how Miklan’s death could affect Sylvain so badly considering how he had been treated by him. He had resolved himself to never seeing him again, that image of a tired, forced smile embedded into his brain for the rest of eternity.

That tired, forced smile is on his lips now as he stands on the mat at Felix’s doorstep. He looks like he’s been walking in the rain for hours, drenched to the bone. Water runs off him in rivulets, plastering red hair to his forehead, forcing his clothes to cling to his broad shoulders as his arms cross over his chest.

Felix is certain that before his shower, he looked like a mangy, wet cat. The fact that Sylvain looks as good as he does while dripping wet irritates Felix, almost overriding his surprise at Sylvain Gautier standing on his doorstep. _Almost_. Instead, he stands with a hand on his door, staring with widened eyes. The silence between them is buffeted by the rain, still falling in heavy showers just beyond the walkway.

“Hey,” Sylvain greets, leaning against the doorframe, smile dropping. He’s trying to be suave, collected, as if he and Felix hadn’t stopped speaking to each other the day Sylvain dropped out of university. As if it hadn’t been two full years since Felix had last seen him. As if there hadn’t been a single day since that Felix hadn’t had a worry, deep in the back of his mind, that Sylvain had ended up dead somewhere. 

“Sylvain,” Felix manages, voice choked. He’s too shocked to be angry. Too surprised that he’s _here_ on Felix’s doorstep to do much more than stare.

Sylvain smiles. It’s a weak smile, exhaustion thrumming in it. Felix can see the start to a furrow between his brows, as if he’s afraid. His faux suave dies in front of Felix’s eyes, as nerves replace it. 

“Hi, Fe,” he says, voice softer. 

The nickname sends a jolt through Felix’s entire system, shutting his brain down. No one else has called him that in years. His hand tightens against the door, fingers flexing against its edge as Sylvain shifts his weight. 

“Can I sleep on your couch for a week?” 

A voice, deep in Felix’ brain, tells him to shut the door. Walk away. Just as Sylvain had done to him years ago. But Sylvain isn’t even done asking his question before Felix is stepping back, tugging the door open.

Sylvain’s eyes grow wide at the action. He shuffles in, adjusting the knapsack on his shoulder as he ducks into the entranceway. 

“Wait here,” Felix states, shutting the door and setting the cash in his hand down on his shoe cupboard. “I’m grabbing some towels. Then I have questions.” He frowns, eyes skirting over Sylvain. “Lots of them.”

“Right. Of course.” Sylvain nods dutifully, still standing in place. “Thank you.”

His feet carry him to the bathroom mechanically. His mind is racing, but so far, his body hasn’t kicked into panic mode yet. He grabs a few towels from the cabinet in the bathroom, taking a few deep breaths when he rises with them in his arms.

Sylvain is standing in his living room.

_Sylvain Gautier is in his living room._

His heart kicks up, starting to pound in his chest. He hurries back out from the bathroom, partially thinking that he’s dreaming, but when he steps back out, he hears Sylvain’s voice, thanking someone before the front door shuts.

Felix stops at the sight of him turning, the bag of takeout in his hand. He smiles sheepishly when Felix meets his gaze.

“Sorry, your food’s here, though!” He’s trying to be cheerful, as he holds up the bag of takeout. His smile is fragile, as if one wrong word from Felix would send it shattering. 

He swallows the lump that’s tightening his throat, marching forward. He takes the bag of food, proffering the towels instead. Sylvain takes them, thanking him again, and Felix turns to go set his dinner on the island. 

He’s lost his appetite.

There’s the muffled sounds of Sylvain’s bag dropping, his shoes being kicked off gingerly. Felix presses his palms against the countertop, taking in a deep, steadying breath. He turns away from his kitchen, eyes going to the entranceway, taking another breath. Sylvain’s ruffling a towel through his hair, standing atop the other. When he speaks, he wants his voice to be steady, wants his questions to be clear and concise. 

Instead, when he speaks, his voice comes out broken. “Where the _hell_ have you been?” 

Sylvain stops, the towel falling to his shoulders. His face crumples a bit and he looks away. “I never left the city,” he admits, his voice soft. “I just moved to the otherside. I needed to get away from my parents, after Miklan, but I didn’t go far.”

Anger laces through Felix at the idea that Sylvain has been living in the same place all this time. He had suspected, assumed, that as soon as Sylvain had left their lives, he had gotten as far away as he possibly could. “You still _live in the city?_ ” he asks, voice hitching.

Sylvain winces. “On the southeast side of the city,” he says. “It’s basically an hour away.”

“But you live _here._ ”

“I. . .” Sylvain trails off before he shrugs again. “Yeah. I do.”

“Get out of the doorway,” Felix snaps, startling Sylvain. “Do you have a change of clothes?”

He hopes so, because with how much taller—and broader—Sylvain is, nothing Felix owns will fit him. 

“I—uh, yeah! I’ve got some in my knapsack, and I’ve got a duffle downstairs in my car.”

“You should change, before you get sick—.” Felix cuts off, startling himself when he processes Sylvain’s words. “ _Car_?” 

Sylvain blinks at him, nodding. He hasn’t stepped out of the entranceway yet. “Yeah, it’s, like, right downstairs.”

Felix’s mouth works in silent syllables while his brain tries to spit out a coherent thought. “How are you that soaked from a five second walk?” 

The question earns him a laugh, a sheepish grin curling his lips up. Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “I was outside for awhile,” he says. “I wasn’t sure what would happen, showing up like this.”

“So you stood outside,” Felix states, “in the pouring rain.”

Sylvain nods. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Felix manages through a tense jaw, “glad to see your common sense is still nonexistent.”

Sylvain moves forward a bit, standing on the towel so he doesn’t trail water through the apartment like Felix had earlier. “Not my finest moment, but no part of today has been.”

Felix narrows his eyes. He wants to know why Sylvain is here, needing a couch to sleep on, but he also has no idea _how_ he’s here. “How’d you get my address?”

Sylvain gives him a tiny, vulnerable smile. “Ashe gave it to me.”

Felix blinks. “You’ve still been talking to Ashe?” 

“Ah, no. I just—.” He shrugs. “I work with his boyfriend. Had no idea until he showed up to karaoke night with him a few months back.”

“Karaoke night,” Felix echoes, brows furrowing. 

Sylvain gives a half-aborted shrug. “We go to a bar. It’s better when you’re drunk.”

His fingers flex, his hands curling, before he turns, jerking his head towards the bathroom door. “C’mon.”

His apartment isn’t _large_ by any means, but it’s not small. His father had made certain Felix got one of the more decent buildings off of campus when Felix had moved out of the university’s dorms. His bedroom door is just to the side of the bathroom, and Felix has to resist the urge to place himself as a barrier between Sylvain seeing inside his room as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom.

The washing machine and dryer are in a large closet inside Felix’s bathroom—one of the many complaints he had had about the layout, when his father had first shown him the apartment. He directs Sylvain to both before leaving him to his own devices to change. Felix spends his time pacing the lengthway of the living room to the kitchen island, arms crossed, thumb at the base of his index finger, flicking the spinning band on the ring he wears.

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to be sitting in the living room, Felix’s legs curled under him as he sits in the chair while Sylvain tries to make himself look small on the couch. 

It should feel more awkward. Felix doesn’t understand why he’s just accepted this. He chalks it up to the fifteen years of friendship between them when Sylvain had vanished. Two years wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of it all, but it had felt like an eternity to Felix. Sylvain had walked away, and now he was back. _Sitting on his couch_. Felix is going to need a bit to process everything.

“What happened?” Felix asks. 

“Do you mean today, or—or back then?” 

Felix’s lips press together into a line. “Let’s start with today, and then we’ll work back.”

A harrowed laugh. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

He drops his elbows to his knees, staring at his hands. Felix rearranges the blanket over the back of the chair while Sylvain thinks over his words.

“So, I live in an apartment, on the southeast side of the city. Near the suburbs, actually, it’s not—. Like it’s nothing special. Tiny, really, but it’s lowkey, that’s why I loved it.”

“What happened?” 

“I was coming back from work and saw my dad standing outside my building.”

Felix’s shoulders tense. “Your dad found you.”

Sylvain nods. “I sent one of my friends to go get some of my clothes and some toiletries. She said he was still outside and she just acted like an outraged ex grabbing her own things.”

“I see.” 

Sylvain glances up at Felix’s tone, before his gaze slides away. “It’s been—. I’ve done my best to stay off his radar, y’know? After what he did when Miklan died, I couldn’t—. I couldn’t stay there.”

Felix remembers snippets. He knows Miklan was never the greatest brother—Sylvain had told them all pieces and stories that they had never corroborated with one another until after Sylvain had disappeared. When they had pieced together just what Sylvain had suffered at Miklan’s hands and his parents’ negligence, it had taken Glenn taking Felix’s phone away for a night for him to stop sending useless voicemails that would never be heard.

“I’m sorry,” says Sylvain. “I should’ve told you guys, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I thought a clean break would be better for all of us.”

“Oh, did you?” Felix asks, trying to keep his voice even. He scowls at the wobbling at the tail end of it, forcing his next question out through clenched teeth. “Why not ask _us_ for help?”

Sylvain shakes his head, huffing a small breath, not looking at him. “I was terrified,” he murmurs. “I was so scared he’d find a way to retaliate against you all, if he knew I was keeping contact.”

Felix watches him. He’s still slumped over, looking exhausted and weighed down. His clothes have changed from what Felix was used to seeing him in. Sylvain had always overdressed in their youth. Pressed slacks, fancy button ups, always trying to pin down a look between model and business casual. Now, though, he looks nothing like it—instead of flashy, runway ready looks, Sylvain’s in a pair of older looking skinny jeans, a well-worn teal hoodie thrown over them. His hair is still damp from the rain that’s still falling outside, and it's obvious he's only used his fingers as a brush.

He’s always been bad at comforting. Sylvain had always been the one they’d go to when they needed to be cheered up. After not seeing him for so long, the fact that the first time Felix gets to see him again, Sylvain looks like _this_ makes something within Felix break. He tries to filter through what he knows would make the situation worse, but all he can settle on is the muted anger that’s still within him. He understands why Sylvain did as he had now, but two years of nothing, then this is far too much for him to be able to shut his mouth.

“Glenn told me you probably knocked someone up.”

Sylvain's eyes widen, briefly, before he gives a laugh, forced. "Yeah, that—that would've been everyone’s first thought, huh?"

Felix winces, immediately regretting his words. “Sylvain—.”

"No, no, it's okay, Fe. I get it, I do. I was. . .a nightmare, back then. I'm still working through some things, now." He smiles, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Glenn probably said a lot worse about me outside of your hearing.”

Felix huffs, crossing his arms as he looks away. “Yeah, well. . .I can’t blame him.” 

“Neither can I,” says Sylvain, light and casual. “Y’know, your food’s probably cold.”

He rolls his eyes at the obvious topic change. He won't be fully deterred, though. “I still have questions.” 

“Go for it.”

“What’s your plan? Like, you obviously have to have one, if you’re _certain_ you only need my couch for a week.”

“I’m going to break my lease,” Sylvain says. “Take a hit on my credit, but my friend’s going to try to get me onto his when he’s back in town next Wednesday. It’s probably going to take a few days, and the office was already closed by the time I stopped panicking enough to think things through. I mean, I doubt my dad’s going to _hover_ , but I don’t—. I mean, I don’t _want_ —.”

“You don’t feel safe there,” says Felix.

Sylvain’s face colours a dusty pink and he looks away. “Yeah,” he admits. “I don’t.” The silence lasts barely a moment, before Sylvain breaks it, clearing his throat. “I definitely wasn’t thinking clearly when I asked Ashe for your address, but I winded up here. If it’s a problem, Fe, I can leave. I’m sure someone’ll be willing to let me camp out for a bit.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix says, voice far too snappish for his liking. He takes a breath, exhaling slowly to level his voice when he talks. “If I didn’t want you to stay, I’d have shut the door in your face.”

Sylvain huffs a tiny laugh. “I suppose that’s true.”

Felix’s thumb flicks his ring. Sylvain’s eyes go towards the movement, and Felix looks away to avoid his gaze. 

“So, what the hell have you been doing for two years?” 

Sylvain lifts an eyebrow at the emotion in his voice. “I’ve been working,” he answers, breezily. “Got a job in a store across the city.” 

“A store?” 

Sylvain nods. “Not the greatest place, but it’s decent enough. It’s the kind of store suburban moms go to to make themselves feel better about their life choices because they’re not shopping anywhere _low end._ ”

Felix’s mouth opens, his brow furrowing, but Sylvain continues without prompting, spreading his hands.

“My coworkers are great, though,” he says. “Lotta _creative_ types, all smashed together.” 

Felix frowns, looking back over, thumb still spinning his ring. “‘Creative types?’” 

“Well, two of our girls in beauty have side jobs.” Sylvain waves a hand, nonchalantly. “‘Thea’s an Instagram model and the other sells jewellery on Etsy. Not stable enough to support them full time, though, so they’re stuck with me in retail hell.”

Felix huffs. “With your resume, I’m sure you could get a better job than at a retail store.” 

Another eyebrow raise, and Felix wants to snap at him to knock that expression off before it makes him angry. Sylvain just leans back against the couch, moving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “My resume?” he questions. There’s something off to his voice. Felix used to be able to name Sylvain’s emotions just by giving him a swift glance, but with a two year absence between them, he has no idea what’s happening behind Sylvain’s honey gaze. “What’s great about it? I didn't work at all before, and I dropped out of college.” 

Felix looks away, lips twisting as he crosses his arms. “With your _name_ , then,” Felix states. “You know anyone in the Blaiddyd Corporation would kill to hire a Gautier.” 

“Not me.” He speaks quickly, as if he needs to get the words out. After a breath, he smiles, and Felix can see the hints of it in the corner of Sylvain’s eyes. A genuine smile, which throws Felix off, again. “I’m happier at this job than I would be in some stuffy, office place.” 

Felix can’t tell if he’s lying, but he knows the smile on his face is real, and it feels wrong. “Are you?” he questions. 

A lazy shrug is his response, forcibly casual. “Don’t get me wrong, I hate my job,” he explains, “but my coworkers _are_ amazing, and it gives me enough time to do my own things on the side without fully worrying about rent.” 

Felix looks over to him. “What do you do on the side?” 

Sylvain smiles. “Lots of things,” he says. “Mostly reading and video games, though. What about you, Fe? What have you been up to? Are you still a polisci major?” 

Felix lets out a noise of derision, knowing he’s deflecting. It doesn’t matter, though. Sylvain will tell him when he’s ready to. He’s always been bad at keeping secrets from Felix. “ _No_ , thank the Goddess. I realized my mistake.” 

Sylvain beams, and it’s the first _cheerful_ and real smile he’s seen on his face. “Yeah?”

Felix explains, switching majors halfway through his second year from political science. The classes he’s in are ones that are the exact opposite of what Glenn took in his university years. Sylvain seems content to listen to him, settling with his elbow against the armrest, propping his chin atop his fist, _staring_ , which drives Felix half-insane, but doesn’t stop him from talking. He updates Sylvain on Ingrid and Dimitri—and forgets that when Sylvain left, Felix and Dimitri still weren’t on good terms.

“I’m glad you’re talking with him again,” Sylvain says. He’s still got a content smile on his face, as if he couldn’t be happier than where he was on Felix’s couch. “It was rough, seeing you go through that.” 

Felix snorts. “Yeah, well. Now I can’t get rid of him. Ingrid makes us have lunch with each other three days a week.” 

Sylvain looks at him in delight. “Three times?” 

“Yes,” Felix sighs. 

Sylvain laughs. “I think that’s great.” 

“You would.” 

“There’s gotta be more to it than just friends, right? No flings? Romances?” 

Felix makes a face, resulting in more of Sylvain’s laughter. 

“What about you and that little redhead you had a major crush on freshman year? Annette?”

He flicks his eyes in a roll. “I think her boyfriend would protest if I tried to date her.”

Sylvain makes a hissing noise, but he's still got a lazy smile on his lips. “Yeah, I’ve discovered people don’t like homewreckers that much.”

Felix snorts. “Do you remember Dimitri’s friend Dedue?” 

Sylvain’s eyes narrow as his head tilts in thought. He lifts a hand, raising it to motion height. “The tall one, yeah? From Duscur?”

He nods. “That’s Annette’s boyfriend.”

The way Sylvain’s eyes widen in shock is comical, as is his slightly yelped, “No shit?” At Felix’s nod, he falls back against the couch, snickering. “Good for her! Dedue always seemed nice. Quiet.” 

“Quiet. Yeah.” Felix glances away, staring across to the windows. “We all hang out still. Mercedes, too, if you remember her.”

“ _Mercie_ ,” Sylvain sighs. “The baker. How could I forget her?” 

Felix has to resist rolling his eyes again. “I mainly get dragged out when Dimitri and Ingrid go. Ingrid’s still obsessed with mothering us.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, though.”

“It’s not. She and Dimitri have spare keys to this place. It’s awful.”

Felix unfurls his legs from underneath him, standing. “Speaking of spare keys, I have one stashed that I can give you, if you’re going to be coming and going with work.” 

“Oh!” Sylvain stands, following suit. “Yeah, that’s—. If you’re sure.” 

“I’ll be home all day tomorrow, but I won’t come Monday,” says Felix. “Better to give it to you now.”

Sylvain thanks him in the same breath he apologizes. Felix chooses to ignore it. The rain has let up to a drizzle, but it’s still more than Felix would like. Sylvain follows him outside as Felix stuffs his feet into his damp shoes. He goes to his car while Felix fetches the key from the rock decoration at the base of the stairs. The tiny, silver hatchback doesn’t even look like Sylvain can sit comfortably at the driver’s wheel, but he happily retrieves a duffle bag from the backseat, following Felix back up the stairs. 

Sylvain carries his car key, his old apartment key, and two oddly tiny keys on a separate ring, all on a bubblegum pink lanyard with blue and yellow stripes that he fetches from his knapsack. Felix’s eyes float over the colour scheme before they settle on the smaller keys as Sylvain adds his spare onto the ring. 

He reaches out, grabbing one. “What are these?” 

“Oh, those are for work.” 

“You have keys for work at a retail store?” 

Sylvain nods. “Makes life easier.” 

“Hm.” 

Sylvain smiles as he throws the lanyard back in his bag. “You should heat up your food, yeah?”

“Probably,” says Felix. “Have you eaten?” 

Sylvain makes a non-committal noise, which Felix still knows instinctually to classify as a _no_. He rolls his eyes. Luckily, Felix had had plans to eat leftovers for dinner tomorrow and ordered enough for two servings. “I hope you still like Thai.” 

He can't name anything drastically different from the Sylvain he had known since toddling height and the one standing before him in worn clothes, looking exhausted with the weight of the world. Sylvain had always cared, too much perhaps. He was always first in line to throw himself into trouble, to take the fall for them so their punishments would be lenient. Even while he was passing his time in his university days sleeping around, he was always texting first, always checking in. Now, that seemed to be exemplified.

Felix heats the food up while Sylvain sits at the island, phone in hand. They exchange numbers before they settle into eating. They don’t talk much, both busy getting texts. Despite the silence between them, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s familiar, in a way, sitting almost elbow to elbow, doing their own things while they eat. 

Annette pleads and begs until he caves and agrees to go shopping tomorrow morning, since Dedue is busy. He answers her texts with only slight reluctance—he’s always had a hard time telling Annette _no_ , no matter the context—and when Mercedes’ sends him a text that’s just a string of heart emojis, he rolls his eyes and sets his phone aside. 

Sylvain’s been tapping away at his own phone for most of the meal, his brow remaining furrowed every time he gets an answer.

“Everything alright? Besides the—.” Felix cuts himself off, gesturing absently. Sylvain snorts a soft laugh over his forkful of noodles. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. My friend is having her own crisis because her brother’s getting married in a month and isn’t listening to what _she_ wants for his wedding.” 

Felix snorts. “Glenn’s fiance has an overbearing sister, too. She considers herself a fashion designer.” 

Sylvain grins. "Is it just a symptom of being a baby sister?”

“Possibly,” Felix says. He’s never met his brother’s future sister-in-law, but Glenn has plenty of stories about her. “Glad to see she cares about you crashing on my couch.”

Sylvain shakes his head ruefully. “She’d care if I told her. I said I had things under control.”

“You got my address from Ashe, who has been lying on your behalf for two years,” states Felix.

“Okay, hey, don’t be mad at Ashe, it’s been, like, two months since Yuri brought him to meet us. He's got classier friends he keeps us away from for a reason.”

Felix’s eyes roll. “Right.” He takes a long drink of water, tilting his head. “So, what time do you work?” 

“Oh, I normally get up at—.” Sylvain stops short, frowning. “Never mind, I have to factor in a fifty minute drive now, so. Early.” His face crumples at the end of his sentence and he lets out a long sigh. 

Felix quirks a brow. “You should get to bed then, huh?” 

Sylvain whines, and it startles a laugh out of Felix that he quickly smothers with a cough. He slips off the stool, bringing his dirty dishes to the sink as Sylain rises and does the same.

“I’ll grab you a blanket and a pillow,” he says. 

Sylvain goes and changes into sleep clothes while Felix fetches a spare blanket from his pile on his bed, snagging a spare pillow. Sylvain’s sleep clothes are a pair of joggers and a threadbare tee that he’s probably owned for years. He accepts the pillow and blanket with another casual smile, thanking him.

Felix ignores the thanks, going and getting ready for bed. By the time he’s dressed for it, teeth brushed and hair loose, Sylvain’s dropped the pillow at one end of the couch. He’s got a phone charger in one hand, and glances over his shoulder when Felix walks out the bathroom from where he’s kneeling on the couch.

“I probably won’t be here when you get back tomorrow,” Felix says. “Annette and Mercedes want me to go shopping with them.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun.” Sylvain reaches down, and Felix hears the muffled sounds of him fighting to get the charger plugged in properly before he sits back. “What kind of shopping?”

“With those two, it’ll start as clothes shopping, then delve into sweet shopping.” Felix crosses his arms, leaning against the wall as he watches Sylvain shift around. “They’ll make me buy cupcakes or something else that’s far too sugary.”

Sylvain tosses a smile over his shoulder. “You hate sweets, though.”

Felix levels him a look. “You see the issue now.”

Sylvain’s laughter is light, and Felix refuses to think about the warmth that soaks into him at hearing the familiar sound. 

“Anyway,” he says, quickly, “I won’t be here when you get back. Probably. So, just. . .” He waves his hand. “Make yourself at home. The wifi password’s on the bottom on the router.” He turns to head into his room, but stops at Sylvain’s voice.

“Thanks again, Fe.”

“Stop thanking me,” Felix says. He feels warmth fill his cheeks and he manages a slightly huffed, “Good night.”

Sylvain’s answering smile is brilliant. Felix feels like he’ll burst into flames. 

“Good night,” he says. 

Felix makes a noise, somewhere between an acquiescence and a grunt, before he slips into his room. He goes to shut the door, but leaves it open just a crack. He heads to his bed, listening to the shuffling sounds of Sylvain getting settled in the living room. He flicks his lamp off, watching the light pouring in through the sliver in the door. It doesn’t take long for the light to shut off, leaving Felix completely in darkness. 

He blinks slowly up at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It’s been too long since there was someone else sleeping near him like this. His father always insisted on him returning home for holidays, but outside of family, he can’t think of the last time someone spent the night. It had taken him a long time to adjust to sharing a dorm room with Ashe his freshman year, but hardly any time at all to readjust to being alone.

He lays awake far longer than he should, doing nothing. His phone sits abandoned on his pillow, untouched long after he hears the sound of Sylvain falling into a deep sleep, snores soft, but still audible. It’s an unobtrusive white noise that he knows brought him comfort once upon a time. 

Sylvain only snored when he slept on his stomach. He has no idea how he remembers that detail, but he does. Felix remembers him crashing at his and Ashe’s dorm after a rough breakup, and him falling asleep almost instantly atop Felix’s tiny, twin bed. As soon as Felix had managed to roll him onto his side, his snores had stopped. He wonders if the same would happen if he went out and rolled him onto his side, but stuffs that thought down before it can fully form. 

Felix has told no one about Sylvain showing up. He knows for a fact he won’t tell Ingrid and Dimitri. If Ashe knows, though, Ashe will tell Annette, who will tell Dedue, who will tell Dimitri out of _obligation_. Felix will not, though. 

The first person Sylvain ever went to was Felix, for anything. If there was a bad breakup, or an argument, or if he just wanted to be with someone, Sylvain always went to him first. The others came after, which means that now that he’s back, he’ll be back for them eventually, too, but out of anyone he could have gone to, he had shown up on Felix’s doorstep. 

Felix doesn’t _want_ to tell the others. Not yet. He wants to be selfish, just for a bit. Perhaps just for the weekend. But Sylvain is back, and only Felix knows. 

He wants to keep that to himself, for as long as he can.

****

**.**

Felix sleeps in strange, short bursts. Every time he thinks he’s slept a while, he’ll roll over and see that it’s barely been an hour since he last checked the time. Despite that, he feels well rested when he hears Sylvain’s alarm go off in the living room. 

The loud clip of music is almost immediately cut off, leaving the apartment in quiet for a moment before Sylvain’s shuffling fills it as he gets up. Felix rolls onto his side, facing the door as he listens to Sylvain head towards the bathroom. He hears Sylvain’s groan, drawn out through a yawn, before the bathroom light flickers on, sending a bright glow out into the space outside before the door creaks closed with Sylvain inside.

Sylvain’s morning routine takes a while. Felix checks the time when he finally slips out of the bathroom, seeing it’s still, technically, the middle of the night. Two years prior, he has his doubts Sylvain would have ever thought his usual _bedtime_ would turn into when he woke up. It baffles him, slightly, that Sylvain could drag himself out of bed so early. There were days in his freshman year where Sylvain would sleep through his morning classes right til noon. Despite that, Sylvain was always cheerful upon waking. A certified morning person. Felix was the exact opposite. He had always been an early riser, but he definitely didn’t enjoy it.

Felix dozes on and off after Sylvain leaves until his alarm goes off. He changes into his running clothes in the bathroom, seeing Sylvain’s dirty ones tucked on the floor next to the hamper of his dirty clothes, as if he’s trying to stay out of sight as much as possible. Felix rolls his eyes and tosses them on top. He’ll do laundry when he’s back from his jog. 

Other than his clothes, there are traces of Sylvain’s presence scattered throughout the bathroom. His toothbrush and razor on the counter, a bottle of hair oil that Felix looks over before setting down with another roll of his eyes. He leaves for his jog before he gets too distracted. The apartment is quiet and dark when he leaves, the sun barely starting to rise in the horizon.

Upon his return from his jog, Felix turns the lights on as he slips out of his shoes, and realizes it’s far tidier than he had expected. Sylvain’s knapsack and duffle are tucked next to his TV stand, and the blanket’s folded into a perfect square with the pillow on top, stacked at the end of the couch, as if Sylvain’s trying to take up as little space as possible.

Felix lets out a small huff. _He always did hate messes_ , he muses to himself as he heads to the shower.

He follows his morning plans precisely as they were laid out. He makes breakfast, gets his laundry done, and by the time it’s a little past nine, his phone starts buzzing. Annette and Mercedes are _ready whenever he is_! which means he sends them a reply that’s immediately followed by Annie’s text of, _great!! we’re downstairs!_

It’s a far nicer morning than it had been the day before. While the sky wasn’t completely clear, the clouds were white wisps instead of the cluster of grey storm ones. There are still puddles and rivers in the parking lot when he heads downstairs and finds Mercedes’ bright blue car. Annette waves at him excitedly from the passenger seat and he rolls his eyes to cover the smile that’s threatening to curl his lips. 

“Good morning, Felix!” Annette says, when he slips into the backseat.

He grunts in response, earning a light-hearted giggle from Mercedes, and a puffy-cheeked glare from Annie. 

“Have you eaten already?” Mercedes asks. “We were going to stop at a drive-thru for tea before we go to the shops.”

Getting tea also always means getting pastries, which Felix had expected to happen at some point, just not right away. Still, he sits in the backseat as Mercedes orders their drinks, alongside sickeningly sweet snacks that Annette munches on as they reach the first of many dress shops of the morning. 

The trip isn’t _awful_. It usually never is with Annette and Mercedes. Despite his grumpiness, both are always pleasant to be around, even when Annette is bantering with him over how mean Felix is. He would trade his thrice-weekly lunches with Dimiri and Ingrid for the same with Annie and Mercie in a heartbeat if he could, but neither had as neatly planned schedules. Between Mercie’s shifts at the bakery with Dedue, and Annette spending a lot of her own free time with her boyfriend, Felix sees them far less than he used to.

He has no idea if he’s outwardly acting different, but Mercedes’ eyes linger on him far longer than they usually do. If either suspect something’s happened, neither one voices it as they go through different stores, the two looking for outfits that befit the warmer weather. Mercedes finds her fill of dresses before Annette, who wants a swath of new outfits for picnic dates, which leaves him and Mercedes sitting outside the fitting rooms, waiting for her to walk out and show them off.

“You know, Felix, we’re here for you, right?” 

His eyes narrow at her. “What?”

Mercedes shrugs in a smooth, elegant motion. “Something’s happened, right? You’re acting odd, but we’re here for you, if you want to talk.”

“Nothing’s happened,” he states, too quickly. Mercedes notices. “Nothing _dire_ ,” he amends. “It’s fine.”

“Well, if you’re sure. . .” 

“I am.” 

The rest of the morning goes well. Annette busies herself with sending the photos Mercie snapped of them dressed up to Dedue while Mercedes drives. Felix has no idea if Sylvain’s going to be back by the time he arrives, and figures he could probably text him, but the only other person he’s texted today has been Dimitri, who had spent most of his morning worrying about an essay that wasn’t due for a week. 

In usual Mercedes fashion, since they had spent so long out, she declares they have to get lunch. The tiny sandwich shop she chooses is close enough to campus for it to still feel casual, but far enough that there are no obvious students lingering at tables. 

When Felix arrives home after getting out of Annette and Mercedes’ clutches, he’s unsurprised that Sylvain is there. He’s lounged on the couch. There’s ambient music playing on a small speaker sitting on the coffee table, and he sits with his knees propping up an iPad in a rose gold case. 

“Hey, Fe,” he greets, grabbing his phone to shut off the music. “How are the girls?”

“What are you doing?” Felix asks, voice half spluttering. 

Sylvain blinks, looks down at his lap, and then back up, his brows furrowing. “I’m. . .drawing?” 

Felix frowns, setting his bag down as he walks over. Sylvain had taken a few art history classes in university, but he had never expressed any interest in creating it himself. “I didn’t think you knew how to draw.”  
Sylvain, as he always does, chuckles, and shrugs, clearly trying to play it off. “I used to doodle constantly in my notes throughout high school and college. I never put serious groundwork into it until I was in my second year in university, when I first got into it digitally. I just. . .never talked about it. Didn’t seem important.” He clears his throat, tone forcibly lighter when he continues with, “But I do commissions now, and I stream sometimes, too.”

Felix’s brows furrow as he settles in the armchair. “You told me your _on the side_ thing was reading and video games.”

Sylvain’s face colours and he looks away, lifting a hand to scratch at his cheek. “Well, yeah. I read a lot of fanfiction, and I play a lot of video games.” He smiles, turning back, looking a little sheepish. “It’s some decent money. I’m working on a comm for one of my favourite writers, though. She requested a scene from one of her fics.”

“Hmm.” 

Sylvain peers at him. Sylvain had always been too good at reading Felix, and two years apart hadn’t seemed to stilt that talent. “Do you. . .? You want to see some of my stuff? I can give you my twitter account, if you want.”

Felix immediately pulls his phone from his pocket. His only twitter followers are the others, and outside of following them, he only follows a few cat sanctuaries. He opens the app, holding the phone out and Sylvain takes it, typing for a moment before proffering it back over. He goes to his own phone after, eyes looking focused. Felix looks through the account, noticing first off the amount of people following him. It’s by no means _huge_ , but it’s still in the thousands. He knows Glenn’s future sister-in-law has thousands of people following her, too, and can’t imagine the stress that could lead to, but Sylvain doesn’t say anything about it. 

Sylvain’s bio is short, simple, and his display name lists that his commissions are open. Felix’s eyes skim down, skipping over a few tweets before going to his media tab. Sylvain’s art is outstandingly good. He can imagine why people would pay for him to draw him things. Mostly fanarts, a few landscapes, some rough sketches. He’s looking over what looks to be a rough sketch of a battlefield when a notification pops up. 

He snaps his gaze up, seeing Sylvain’s smug smile even though his attention is solely focused back on the iPad. His eyes narrow, but he scrolls back up to the top of Sylvain’s page, seeing the new _follows you_ next to his name. He hits the follow button, ignoring the happy noise Sylvain makes when his phone buzzes with the notification.

“You’re. . .talented,” he manages. He’s never been that good at compliments, but when he chances another look, Sylvain’s smiling at him, that genuine and _true_ smile that almost sets Felix’s heart aflutter. 

“Thanks, Fe. I appreciate it. It’s mostly fanart, but. . .” He trails off, shrugging, and Felix has to swallow his scoff.

“That’s still art,” he says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sylvain gives a startled, little laugh. “You’re right.” 

“I normally am,” he grumbles, going back to lurking through Sylvain’s account. There’s a pinned tweet at the top of his page, dated for yesterday morning: ‘ _sorry to disappoint, friends, but some things have come up and I won’t be able to post new art for a bit!! I’m still working on comms, though, so don’t worry!_ ’ The replies underneath it are all positive, supportive, and he sees Sylvain’s replied to a few of the ones asking if everything was alright. 

He tells himself he’s not jealous as he exits out of the app. 

There’s only quiet for a few more moments before Sylvain clears his throat. “So, do you have any thoughts on dinner? I can cook, if you want.”

Felix frowns, glancing up. Sylvain’s still drawing, his pen moving smoothly atop his tablet screen. His plans for dinner had been to eat yesterday’s leftovers, which he can’t do since there are none. Sylvain looks up at his silence, frowning at his expression.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t. . .have food. Really.” 

Sylvain’s brows furrow. “What?” 

Felix makes a noise, terse and defensive. “I don’t really eat here.” 

“You. . ..” His frown deepns. He sets his work aside and climbs to his feet. “I snagged lunch on my way back, I haven’t rifled through your pantry; what are you talking about? What do you mean you don’t _eat_ in your _home_?” 

Felix doesn’t have a chance to make another noise. He watches as Sylvain moves swiftly, going beyond the chair to the pantry, opening the door. The shock on Sylvain’s face at seeing what it contains—possibly expired cereal, rice, and a few other staples—is next to nothing when he moves along the kitchen, opening cupboards left and right before he gets to the fridge. Sylvain turns back to look at him from the fridge with widened eyes, concern already clouding the surprise in his expression.

“Felix, when the hell do you eat?” 

“I eat on campus!” Felix snaps, face heating. He crosses his arms over his chest, turning around so he doesn’t have to face Sylvain’s stare. “I have food, I just don’t have a car, it’s hard to buy things in advance!” 

“Oh Sothis save us,” Sylvain sighs. “Alright, c’mon. Get up.”

“What? Why?” Felix narrows his eyes as Sylvain crosses the room again, just coming to flip the cover on his iPad’s case and set it on the coffee table. “What are we doing?” 

“I’m taking you grocery shopping.”

 _“What_? No.”

 _“Yes,_ ” Sylvain says, enthusiastically. “C’mon, let's go. We can think of dinner ideas on the way.”

Felix protests greatly, but thirteen minutes later, he’s sitting in the passenger seat in Sylvain’s hatchback, trying to will the heat in his face away as he fidgets with his ring. Sylvain’s typing on his phone as he settles in, seat hiked all the way back to accommodate his leg space. After a moment, he hands his phone over, properly buckling himself in as he starts the car. 

“Look over the list, add what you want.” 

Felix’s eyes skim over the words, his frown deepening. “This is going to be expensive.”

“Not really,” says Sylvain. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

Felix looks over sharply. “No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will,” Sylvain says, breezily. “I’m sleeping on your couch, let me buy you decent food so you stop eating like a frat boy.”

“I have never been a frat boy.”

“Exactly.” Sylvain glances over to wink at him before his eyes go back to the road. 

Felix is still frowning, but he looks back at the list, adding a few things here and there. The phone buzzes halfway through adding gochujang to the list, and a new text notification pops up. The name reads _Thea_ , followed by a string of emojis.

“Thea wants to know if you’re calling out of work tomorrow,” he states, swiping the message away to finish adding to the list.

“Oh! Yeah, will you tell her I am? I told her maybe, since I know you’ll want to sleep in once over the weekend.”

“I’m still jogging tomorrow morning,” says Felix, though he moves from the notes app to the messenger to reply, ignoring all of the others listed in Sylvain’s text menu to answer the top. The only thing he notices is the excessive amount of emojis in all of the contacts, including his own, right below _Thea_ in the menu. Two swords surrounding _Fe_. He wants to feel disgusted, but all he does is feel warm. 

The trip to a grocery store shouldn’t feel as domestic as it does. Sylvain’s been back in Felix’s life for less than twenty-four hours, but it’s starting to feel like he hasn't been gone at all. Felix pushes the cart through the aisles as Sylvain fills it with everything on the list, and more. The things he covets the most are the jars of spices he sets in the top, next to the eggs and other _crushable_ things. Felix has never bought as many vegetables in one trip as Sylvain adds to the cart and he wonders just how much Sylvain plans to cook, but allows it, just enjoying how relaxed and happy Sylvain seems to be, chattering about different recipes and ideas he has. 

“Ooh, we should get some avocados,” Sylvain says. “Make avocado toast with breakfast tomorrow.” 

Felix snorts a laugh. “You’re not serious.”

“Not at all.” Sylvain throws a wink over his shoulder, but his hands are already feeling out the avocados. “We can add it into dinner tonight to counteract the spiciness with the chicken.”

“You never have liked spicy things.”

“I’ve got more of a sweet tooth,” says Sylvain. He adds a few avocados to their never-ending cart of food. “I think this should be good.”

“Oh, do you?” asks Felix, dryly. “I think you missed the entire shelf of pasta.”

Sylvain sticks his tongue out, as if he isn’t nearing twenty six years of life. “You’re the one with a broom in your pantry, Fe.”

The amount of bags they need to fill is far more than the three reusable bags Felix has. The result is Sylvain’s backseat being full of paper bags, more groceries in the car than Felix thinks has ever been in his apartment in the year and a half he’s lived there. 

The drive home is spent with Felix telling him about the amount of dresses and clothes Annette and Mercedes tried on, then the pastries they had gotten after lunch. Sylvain tells him about work, which is mostly just him spending his days in the backroom after the store opens.

“It’s nicer before open to stock, but you don’t need to hear all those logistics.” He breezily speeds past anything else, changing the topic towards Felix’s schoolwork. 

Felix only tells him that he has an essay he needs to finish up tomorrow, before discussing Dimitri’s panicked texting from that morning. Sylvain listens intently, seeming to be happier again to not be the centre of attention. 

It’s only when they’re back at the apartment that he starts talking, but not about himself.

“There’s this recipe I saw online for a spicy chicken rice bowl,” Sylvain says as they carry the groceries inside. “I’ve got it saved in my bookmarks, we could totally do that for dinner.”

Despite Sylvain’s implications that it would be a mutual effort, as soon as the groceries they don’t need for his planned recipe are put away, he shoos Felix out of the kitchen, insisting he can handle it by himself. 

“As payment,” he says. “Since I’m crashing on your couch.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’ve already told me you don’t need to pay me.” He doesn’t admit that Sylvain could’ve shown up at three in the morning and Felix would have still opened the door and let him in. Instead, he settles on one of the barstools, phone in one hand, but his eyes never go far from Sylvain as he flits around the kitchen like he belongs.

It’s interesting, watching Sylvain cook from his perch on the other side of the island. He’s methodical, confident, and cracks jokes all the while. When the chicken is mostly cooked, the kitchen smelling like spice and herbs for the first time in Goddess knows how long, Felix props his chin in hand, watching Sylvain grab a clean cutting board for the last few ingredients he needs to chop for toppings.

“I didn’t know you learned how to cook.”

Sylvain beams. “Had to. People _adore_ when their lovers know how to cook.”

Felix’s eyes narrow. “Do they?”

Sylvain shrugs. “So they say. I don’t really have time for romance.”

“You never had time for romance before,” says Felix. “Just people whose hearts you’d break.”

“Ah, well. . .” Sylvain lifts the knife he’s slicing scallions with, pointing towards Felix. “You’re not wrong. I really just go to work and hang out with my coworkers, though. They’re all great, but I do _not_ need to involve myself in drama if I wind up sleeping with one of them.”

“Would there be a lot of drama if you did?” Felix asks. 

Sylvain's eyes flick in a roll as he grabs the avocado. He talks while he cuts it in half, seeming to focus more on the conversation than what he's doing. Felix watches his hands as he speaks. 

"Listen, most of my coworkers are drama queens—myself included. If anyone wanted the entire store dynamic to fall apart, all we'd have to do is— _fuck_!"

The knife catches his hand when Sylvain, in what had to be the least sensible thing he’s done all night, tries to hack the pit out with the knife. Felix is up in an instant, clambering around the counter to grab Sylvain's wrist and drag him to the sink.

Sylvain's laughing. "Guess I got a little overzealous there, huh?"

Felix frowns at him, flicking the faucet on. There's already a lot of blood, but when Sylvain runs it under the water, hissing slightly, Felix can see the cut isn't large, just deep near the base of his thumb.

It's a habit Sylvain always had in their childhood. Any cut or scrape or bruise was played off, him being clumsy, or just careless. Felix knows the truth of most of Sylvain's injuries, but him playing it off makes him bristle. 

"I'll go grab some bandages."

Sylvain smiles, gentle and calm. "Thanks. Sorry about this."

Felix's brows furrow as he looks back. "It was an accident. You don't need to apologize for getting hurt."

"Oh, but—."

"I'm getting my first aid kit," Felix states, before Sylvain can come up with anything more self-deprecating to tell him. "Try to get the blood staunched."

His first aid kit isn’t large, tucked away underneath the bathroom counter. He snags it, thinking over every time he had noticed an injury on Sylvain in their youth. There had been plenty of bruises from slaps he had played off in their mutual university days, but even further back, he can recall moments of sprained ankles, that broken arm from Miklan when Felix was barely ten. 

Sylvain was always used to caring after _them_ , he hardly seemed to ever care about himself. 

When Felix returns to the kitchen, Sylvain has his hand raised slightly over his head, paper towels pressed against his thumb. He smiles at Felix, but doesn’t say anything as he sets the tiny case down to pull out some bandages. 

The cut’s bleeding has slowed, but it’s definitely deep. As Felix tends to it, he can see other scars lining Sylvain’s hands, thin, silvery against his skin. He doesn’t mean to, but when he’s applying a small bandage to the cut on his thumb, Felix’s fingers brush a longer one that curves through the heel of his palm.

“My hands get beat up a lot,” Sylvain says, in answer to Felix’s silent question. “Lots of boxes and sharp knives and metal. It’s alright, though. They hardly ever hurt.”

Felix huffs. “You always try to play off your injuries.”

“A cut from me trying to pit an avocado with a santoku knife isn’t an _injury_ , Felix.”

“It is,” he insists, fixing Sylvain with a look. “I’m sure any of your other friends would agree with me.”

Sylvain’s eyes flick over his face, and Felix has to wrench his gaze away, going back to finishing up the bandage. Sylvain doesn’t say anything else, just keeps glancing over at the food still on the stove to make sure it’s not burning. When Felix is done, he steps back, but stops by the gentle hand on his wrist. Sylvain’s staring at him, eyes imploring, and Felix twitches slightly, but holds his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice soft, earnest. “I’ll do better.”

Felix feels his face fill with heat. He turns away, making a scoffing noise that catches in his throat. “Go sit down,” he says. “I’ll get the avocado ready.”

Feeling Sylvain’s eyes on him while he dishes them up is a thousand times worse than Felix thought it would be. The attention makes his face heat, and the feeling of his face warming with a blush frustrates him more. It’s far too _domestic_ , considering yesterday morning, Felix had no idea where Sylvain was. He has to admit, to himself, if not to anyone else, it doesn’t feel _wrong_. Their grocery outing, Sylvain making dinner, Felix tending to an injury. . . It all feels far too right. Like they had just hit _pause_ on their friendship, and Sylvain knocking on his door was hitting _play_. 

His reverie is interrupted by a snorted laugh. “Fuck, I forgot.” Felix looks over as he grabs his phone. “I’ve gotta tell my boss this gave me food poisoning.”

“You’re telling him now?” asks Felix.

“Yeah, he’ll be mad, but I’ll be sure to send enough sad faces to make up for it.”

Felix snorts, rolling his eyes. “Does that work?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Listen, he’s not gonna call me if he thinks I’m stuck in the bathroom all night.”

“You’re a wonderful dinner conversationalist,” Felix states.

Sylvain grins. “I try.”

****

**.**

Felix wakes as soon as his alarm goes off. He shuts it off and slips out of bed moments later. Sylvain’s snores drift in from the living room as he gathers up his running clothes. When he glances over at him before heading into the bathroom, he can see Sylvain stretched out on his stomach, the shirt he had worn to sleep in tossed across the coffee table.

He gets ready quickly, quietly. Sylvain’s rolled onto his side by the time Felix is slinking out the front door, easing it shut as gingerly as he can. 

Felix’s running trail is the same one he goes through four days of the week. It wraps around a large park ten minutes from his apartment, going close towards the campus before it loops back. It’s not a long route, barely taking the better half of an hour, but by the time he’s heading back up the stairs, the sun’s fully risen. 

When he unlocks the door, he’s met with the immediate smell of bacon cooking. He steps inside, listening to the sounds of sizzling oil and bright, bubbly music playing at an obnoxiously loud volume for the hour. He slips his shoes off and sets them in the cupboard, taking the few steps in to spot Sylvain at the stove, idly swaying in time to the music playing. He’s still in his pyjamas, his sleep shirt thrown back on, and if he’s heard Felix’s return, he has no reaction to it.

“Is this Carly Rae Jepsen?” he asks.

Sylvain tosses a grin and a wink over his shoulder. “Naturally.”

Felix’s eyes narrow, lips parting. He thinks better of it, shaking his head. “I’m going to shower.”

“Breakfast should be done by then!” Sylvain says. “Good morning, by the way!”

Felix huffs a breath. “Morning.”

The breakfast Sylvain makes is far more extravagant than anything Felix would ever make for himself, and he insists on cleaning up as soon as they’re done eating, shooing Felix out of the kitchen when he tries to offer his help. Instead, he spends the rest of the morning at the island, working on his schoolwork while Sylvain sits on the couch, curled up and working on his tablet.

He gets texts from the others throughout the course of the day, as he works. Dimitri, no longer panicked about his work, asks after Felix’s weekend and how it’s progressed. Ingrid, trying to mother him, makes sure he knows that their shared afternoon lecture has an exam on Tuesday that he should be prepared for. Both Annette and Mercedes ask after him, without outright asking just what could have made Felix act _oddly_ the day before, though he’s still in the belief that the only one that currently knows about Sylvain is Ashe, and Ashe _probably_ hasn’t told anyone else yet, since no one’s blown his phone up with questions. 

Halfway through lunch, Sylvain takes a break from his work, convincing Felix to do so as well. 

“We should go get coffee,” Sylvain says, stretching his arms overhead. “Or tea. Or something.”

“Why?”

Sylvain smiles, approaching the island to cross his arms loosely on top of it, leaning into Felix’s space. “Going outside is good for you!” 

“I went outside this morning,” he states.

“That doesn’t count, the sun wasn’t up yet.”

Felix’s eyes narrow at him. “Maybe you should’ve gone to work today, if you’re this antsy.”

“Aww, but what would you have eaten for breakfast if I wasn’t here?” 

Felix doesn’t answer that, which is answer enough. Sylvain spends a few more moments pleading and cajoling before Felix gives in, just to get him to stop whining. “Fine, let’s go get tea.”

They walk instead of taking Sylvain’s car, and Sylvain practically bounds as they walk. The sun shines brightly overhead, Sylvain chattering about the weather, and how half of his coworkers whined that he abandoned them.

“They would do the same to me in a heartbeat,” he says, goodnaturedly. “Hilda’s upset, though, because ‘Thea’s off.”

“Hilda,” Felix says, brows pinching. 

“Yeah, she works beauty,” explains Sylvain. “I think I mentioned she’s the one that sells jewelry online?” 

“Right, you did,” says Felix. “Didn’t mention a name.”

“Ah, yeah, she’s been working there about as long as I have,” Sylvain says. 

Felix is still frowning, as Sylvain goes off on a tangent. Hilda isn’t by any means an _uncommon_ name, but he’s only ever heard of one before. He’s never seen pictures of Holst’s little sister, and Glenn has only ever told him that the place she works at is a circus full of clowns, based on stories. He glances at Sylvain as they walk, the sun turning his hair into bright strands of cinnabar, giving his skin a warm glow that shows off his freckles. 

He doubts Sylvain would appreciate the comparison, even though Felix isn’t sure he’s right. 

He doesn’t _want_ to be right about this, anyway. The idea that Sylvain could’ve been just one person away from him this entire time is too much, more than what he felt when he found out Ashe knew about his whereabouts. 

“You’re staring, Fe,” Sylvain says. A thumb presses gently on the furrow between his brow. “What’s up?” 

He recoils, batting Sylvain’s hand away. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s fine.”

Sylvain tilts his head, eyes narrowing. It’s not one of Felix’s best lies, obviously, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s still feeling selfish. Sylvain is his right now, no one else’s. He knows how weird and possessive that feeling is, and had they not spent two years apart, he’d probably be mortified at it.

Sylvain is still looking at him, still waiting patiently for him to get through his own barriers to tell him what he’s feeling. Only three days back together, and he knows the ins and outs of Felix as if he had never left.

“I’m. . .” He trails off, looking away as his cheeks start to warm. “I’m not _glad_ about what happened to you,” he says. “Your father finding you, I mean.” He glances back, determined to hold Sylvain’s gaze while he continues with, “I _am_ glad you’re back, though. I—. I missed you.”

He watches as Sylvain’s eyes widen, lips parting. His cheeks start to tint a light pink, no doubt matching the colour on Felix’s own face. He wrenches his gaze away, too overwhelmed by the expression on Sylvain’s face.

After a terse, silent moment, Sylvain lets out a loud, shaky exhale. “I missed you, too, Felix,” he says, voice soft. Far too vulnerable for the fact that they’re on a sidewalk in the middle of the city. “I’m sorry that I left.”

“You don’t—.” Felix makes a sound, half-strangled in his throat. “ _Stop_ apologizing for it. I understand why you did it.”

Sylvain leans close to bump his shoulder against Felix’s. “I still feel bad about it.”

“It isn’t your fault,” says Felix. “And we can’t change what’s been done.”

“That’s true,” Sylvain says. “C’mon, let me buy your tea.”

“Absolutely not, you’ve spent way too much money on me already. If you pull your wallet out, Gautier, I’ll shove you into the street.”

Sylvain laughs warmly, leaving Felix to march on ahead, ignoring the strange thumping of his heart in his chest as he listens to Sylvain’s footsteps as he rushes to catch up.

The rest of the day passes without any other full interruptions. Sylvain tries his hardest to wheedle his way into the kitchen to make dinner, but Felix puts his foot down, leaving him to scroll through Netflix as he cooks. He isn’t the best chef, and not nearly as creative as Sylvain, but he can follow a recipe. His food isn’t usually inedible, either, but Sylvain lauds the meger meal as if it’s the best thing he’s ever had. 

They get ready for bed far earlier than Felix is used to, but both need to wake up early, Sylvain more so than him, but _still_. He already knows Sylvain is doing his best to not interrupt Felix’s normal routine, as if he’s now a burden on his shoulders. Felix has no idea how to convey to him that it's fine without just continuously repeating himself, which he refuses to do.

He comes up with the plan while he’s brushing his teeth. When he finishes dressing in his sleep clothes, he walks out of the bathroom. Sylvain’s sprawled out on the couch already, dressed in nothing but his joggers, the sleep shirt he knows he’ll discard tossed neatly over the back of the chair. Felix tries to focus his eyes away from the long, bare stretch of his upper body, following the movement of Sylvain’s fingers as he idly scratches above his navel. He snaps his gaze up to Sylvain’s face, but if he’s noticed Felix staring, he’s doing a good job of not hiding it. His eyes flicker across his phone screen, face decidedly neutral.

“You work tomorrow?” Felix asks, though he already knows the answer.

Sylvain looks up from his phone, dropping it to his chest. “Yeah, I do. I’ll be quiet, I know you’ve got class—”

“We’ll split the bed.”

Sylvain blinks, once, twice, three times, before his expression morphs to something unreadable. “Wh—?”

“You’re too tall to sleep on the couch,” Felix says, turning away. His ears are burning. “It’s got to be doing damage to your back. We can share the bed.”

Sylvain hesitates for a moment and Felix huffs an aggravated breath, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“We’ve done it before,” he states.

“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees. His voice is airy. Felix turns back to him, frowning, but he’s rising to his feet, not looking at him. “You’re sure?” 

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.” He turns, heading into his bedroom. “Hurry up.”

He hears Sylvain rummaging, no doubt for his phone charger, but he hastens to follow. Felix is sitting with his back to the door when Sylvain slides in, footsteps light. He sets his alarm on his phone, setting the device down as he holds a hand out. Sylvain stares at him blankly before he murmurs a noise and hands his charger over. Felix gets it plugged in below his, tucked in the wall behind his bed, as Sylvain settles gingerly on the other side of the bed. 

They murmur _goodnight_ s to each other when Sylvain’s tucked his phone under his pillow. He’s stretched out on his back as Felix settles on his side, back to him. He’s trying to calm himself down, thoughts from his past spiralling up that could easily stay dead for all he cares. In their youth, when they shared beds, Sylvain was always an awful bedmate. As clingy as he was when awake, Sylvain sought out anything he could to cuddle and hold. There had been times when they were in their high school days where Felix would wake half-suffocated under Sylvain’s weight. 

It seems he’s grown past that. While he shifts and settles, when Sylvain falls asleep, he falls asleep _hard_. Felix stays awake, rolling over to face him. Sylvain’s on his side now, hair already mussed, chest rising and falling steadily with long, even breaths. 

Felix remembers how casually affectionate Sylvain had been in their youth. The interactions would be constant, with Sylvain draping himself over him, or fist bumps and side hugs, cheek and forehead kisses with the others. Sylvain’s kept his distance from Felix, though. As if he’s wary to step out of line, wary about how he might react. True, Felix remembers the grumbling protests he would put up when they were younger, but he had missed the casual touches. He received hugs from Ingrid and Annette, kisses to his cheek from Mercie, and Glenn would still irritatingly pull him against his side to ruffle his hair, but it was never the same. Despite how he longed to be able to initiate that contact, he left it alone, letting the others decide when he was worth it or not. It didn’t take much for him to be left alone, his attitude and expressions resulting in a state of being permanently touch starved. 

Sylvain’s still fast asleep. Felix slows his breathing to match his, trying to calm the sudden pounding of his heart. He’s not doing anything _nefarious_ , but nerves still alight in his veins. When his breathing is controlled, as slow and steady as Sylvain’s, he shifts, subtly, carefully, inching across the wide expanse that had been left between them. He closes his eyes, keeping his breathing controlled, then, gently, lifts one of his legs to slide his foot between Sylvain’s calves. One leg of his joggers have ridden up, and Sylvain takes in a sharp breath at the sensation of Felix’s icy toes wedging their way against his skin. 

Sylvain makes a few sleep-infested, grumpy noises before he shifts. A large, warm palm slides up his arm, gingerly, as if Sylvain’s petrified over waking him. Felix’s breathing is harder to match to Sylvain’s, now that he’s awake, but he manages to keep it steady. Sylvain all but wraps himself around Felix after a pause, leg crossing over Felix’s thigh, his hand trailing up his back. Felix is grateful for his fists, curled loosely in front of his chest, a small barrier between his thundering heart and Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain’s hand combs through his hair, fingers gently threading through the strands, and Felix shivers, unable to stop his breath from catching. Sylvain’s leg tightens, preventing Felix from moving—not that he had any plans to—and he shushes him with a gentle murmur, breath fanning across the top of his head. 

Felix was certain that he wouldn’t sleep much because of it, but he finds himself falling asleep far quicker than planned, soothed and content to lay in Sylvain’s arms.

****

**.**

Felix wakes up when Sylvain’s alarm goes off. They’re tangled amongst each other, Sylvain sprawled on his back with Felix half on top of him, their legs entwined and Sylvain’s hand braced against the small of Felix’s back, bare from where his shirt has rucked up. Sylvain shifts, muttering softly, grabbing his phone to shut the alarm off. Felix feels embarrassment flood through him at how they’re laying, but Sylvain doesn’t give him a chance to panickedly flee. His hands rest on Felix’s hips, gently shifting him aside and back into the pillows. Sylvain knows he has to be awake; Felix watches him with sharp eyes, lips pressed together, but Sylvain doesn’t say anything. He just shifts the blankets up to tuck Felix back in before he slips out of the bedroom.

Later, once Felix’s own alarm goes off and he readies for his day, he meets with Ashe early in the morning, a habit both had had since the first Monday of the semester. Ashe is waiting for him outside the coffee shop, holding two cups in his hands. Felix knows well enough it’s a peace offering. 

“Two months, huh?” he asks, in lieu of greeting.

Ashe shrugs, giving him a tiny, sheepish smile. He holds out one of the cups, steam wisping in the air between them. Felix takes it, huffing a small breath.

“Listen,” Ashe says, “the last thing I was expecting when I finally convinced Yuri to let me meet his coworkers was walking into a karaoke bar and seeing Sylvain drunkenly singing along to Starships.”

“Starships,” Felix echoes.

“By Nicki Minaj,” Ashe clarifies.

Felix’s eyes narrow. He takes a sip of his tea. “So you have his number?” 

“I do now.” Ashe shrugs. “Yuri has it, since he has most of his coworkers’ numbers, and he already knew _something_ was up Friday because he said Sylvain left work, and then came back half an hour later to hunt down one of the girls that work with them.”

“Hmm.” Felix assumes that’s the girl who gathered up his clothes and other things, stuffed haphazardly in the duffle bag that’s living in the corner of Felix’s bedroom now. 

“He didn’t want you guys to know,” says Ashe, “and it wasn’t my place to mention it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Felix says.

“I know.” Ashe smiles. “I just know you’re not happy about the situation.”

His day progresses easily enough. The only true hiccup is Ingrid trying to interrogate him over lunch, because _something_ ’s off, even though she can’t tell what. Dimitri offers the suggestion that Felix, like himself, is just simply stressed, and it takes all of Felix’s self-restraint to not get up and leave halfway through their lunch. 

Sylvain’s texted him throughout the day, mostly after he had gotten off work and managed to get to the office at his apartment building. His updates about how quickly the process would be, despite the exorbitant fee that he’d be charged for breaking the lease. He’ll have to clear his apartment out by Friday if he doesn’t want _extra_ charges, so he’s planning to call the friend he plans to move in with to let him know that all his furniture’s going to be brought over Wednesday. 

Felix wonders if he knows anyone with a truck. Holst has one, and when Felix tells Sylvain that Glenn’s fiancee has one that they could probably use, he lets him know it’s unnecessary. Sylvain knows a guy, too, and others who are willing to help him do heavy lifting for a bit. 

He gets home before Sylvain does, later in the evening. He’s set up at the island, studying, while he has things prepped for dinner. When Sylvain arrives, his footsteps are heavy in the doorway. He looks exhausted when Felix gets up to go look at him. Despite the sluggishness to his movements, he smiles at Felix. 

“I’ll get dinner started,” Felix says.

Sylvain’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Thanks. I’m gonna shower.”

The rest of their night goes well. Felix moves to the couch to continue studying, while Sylvain sits at the other corner, his toes brushing Felix’s thigh as he works on a drawing on his iPad. There’s some sort of gritty fantasy show Sylvain had put on playing as background noise, though Felix’s eyes hardly ever go to the screen. Whenever his attention strays from his textbook, it’s to his left, where Sylvain’s steadily growing more and more sleepy. It’s only when his hand loses its grip on the pen that Felix bothers to usher him to bed, herding him into the bedroom while Sylvain gives him mumbled protests. 

“I have a little bit more I want to get done,” he says, “but I’ll join you soon.”

Sylvain nods off before Felix has even left the room and he huffs a small laugh at the sight of this giant man in his bed. By the time he’s ready to head to bed, Sylvain’s deep into a REM cycle, spread across Felix’s bed as if it was his goal to touch every inch of the mattress. 

Felix huffs a quiet, amused laugh at the sight. He nudges and prods, ignoring Sylvain’s sleepy noises as he moves to his side. As soon as Felix is under the blankets, Sylvain latches on, nuzzling into his hair as his arms wind around Felix’s waist. 

He takes a few steadying breaths to slow his heart before closing his eyes and letting himself relax back into Sylvain’s warmth.

****

**.**

Felix’s only class on Tuesdays and Thursdays is right after noon. Because he doesn’t have to waste his morning at campus, he leaves Tuesdays and Thursdays as his weekday run days, which means he’s already prepared to wake up early, but not nearly as early as Sylvain needs to. 

Like the morning before, they both wake to his alarm, cuddled up to one another. Sylvain moves as quietly as possible as he gets ready, and Felix waits until he hears the front door shut before trying to go back to sleep. 

His morning run clears his thoughts as he goes through it and by the time he’s sitting in the lecture hall next to Ingrid, he’s fully prepared for the test. He’s _not_ prepared for Ingrid to follow shortly after he turns it in, all but chasing him down the halls. 

“We should go get tea,” she offers, “to celebrate completing the exam.” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “I need to get home.”

“What’s there that’s more interesting than getting tea?”

“There’s not nearly as many people as there would be at the café.”

“I wanted to go to Mercie’s,” Ingrid says. “We can see Dedue, too.”

“No thanks.” He waves his hand as he turns the other way. “Go have fun without me.”

“Felix! It isn’t healthy to lock yourself indoors by yourself!” 

“I’ll be fine,” he calls over his shoulder.

The apartment isn’t empty when he arrives home. Sylvain’s lounging on the couch, frowning at his iPad as he tilts his head this way and that. He looks up at Felix as he stalks across the room, dropping to the armchair and grabbing the blanket tossed over its back to cocoon himself. Sylvain quirks a brow.

“Bad test?” 

Felix shrugs. “It was fine. Ingrid wants me to _socialize_ more.”

“Socializing is healthy,” Sylvain offers, but lifts his hands in surrender when Felix pins him with a glare. “I’m just saying. C’mere, though, tell me if you think these colours look fucked up.” 

Felix stares balefully at him from his nest, until Sylvain huffs and rises, bringing the tablet to him. The drawing’s a landscape of a forest, a lone hunter on a horse shadowed by low sunlight. It’s beautiful, and Felix tells him as such, noting the way Sylvain’s cheeks darken. He clears his throat.

“You don’t think the colours are off?”

“No, they look great,” Felix says. 

Sylvain nods, still red-faced, before he moves to set the device down. “Should I start dinner?”

Felix follows him to the kitchen island, blanket trailing over his shoulders as he settles on a stool. Sylvain talks about his day as he cooks, flitting through the kitchen like he belongs there. His work was fine, and Claude, the friend he plans to move in with, will be back in town tomorrow morning.

“I don’t work Wednesdays and Thursdays, so it’s perfect timing.” 

“Who’s going to help you move furniture?” Felix asks.

Sylvain smiles widely, obviously noting the mild concern in his voice. “The guy who’s truck I’m borrowing. Possibly Hilda, but she’s certifiably lazy. She’s showing up for _moral support_ , though, when she’s off work.”

Felix hums, pulling his phone from his pocket. He drafts an email as Sylvain moves about, the aroma of spiced food permeating through the room. By the time Sylvain’s ready to dish their plates up, Felix has emailed his professors, texted Dimitri about maybe missing class tomorrow, and responding to his concern with a reassurance he’d be fine. 

Truthfully, he should’ve seen it coming. Dimitri accepts the excuse without any of his usual multi-text questions. Felix thinks nothing of it as they finish up dinner, settling on the couch together, Felix hardly leaving his blanket cocoon the entire time. 

Sylvain gets them set up with a trashy romcom, settling with his feet inching their way under Felix’s thigh to soak up the warmth of his blanket. Had Felix had no filter, he would’ve voiced the ridiculous thought that floats into his head. _Why don’t you just stay here?_ is on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it down, trying to focus on the movie. 

It’s so bad, it’s _good_ , Sylvain declares, grinning when Felix rolls his eyes in mild-amusement. They reach a scene where the love interests are yelling passionately at each other in the midst of a thunderstorm when there’s the sound of keys in his apartment door. 

There’s a moment of tense silence between him and Sylvain, from where they’re still sprawled together on the couch. The door swings open, and Felix immediately recognizes the voices that follow. Ingrid’s voice comes in first, asking Felix if he’s feeling better, and noting the scent of their dinner that still lingers in the air. Felix spots her as she walks into view, her attention focused solely on the closet to hang her coat.

They have no time to do _anything_. The only thing Felix could think of doing would be to throw his blanket over Sylvain, but that would accomplish absolutely nothing. 

Ingrid turns, looking pleased at having hung her coat properly, just as the front door shuts and Dimitri apologizes for the intrusion. Ingrid’s eyes land on them first, as Dimitri shuffles in behind her, shoulders hunched in his hoodie, trying to look smaller. Felix watches her face flicker through stages of emotion. Confusion, shock, recognition, and then the telltale sign of mounting anger. Dimitri has a pinch between his brow, eyes going from Felix to Sylvain, but he just looks on in blatant surprise as Ingrid’s fingers curl into fists at her sides. 

“. . .Sylvain?”

Felix’s eyes flick to him. He’s tensed, poised, as if trying to figure out how he could flee with Dimitri blocking the way to the door. After a half-second, he visibly forces himself to relax, a casual smile looping his lips up. “Ingrid! Uh. . .hey! You look great, as always, green is a wonderful colour for your complexion.” He tilts his chin up to Dimitri, who most likely looks better than he had for years when Sylvain had left them. “And, Dimitri! You look like you got taller. Love the hair length; did you get taller?”

“What the actual hell is going on?” Ingrid demands, voice hitching. “What are you _doing here_?”

Sylvain gets to his feet, which prompts Felix to do the same, as Sylvain spreads his hands, an awkward chuckle falling from his lips. “It’s no big deal,” he says, “I’ve just been staying with Fe for a bit.”

“A _bit_?” Ingrid asks. Her fury goes to Felix for a brief second before turning back to Sylvain, tenfold. “How long is a _bit_?” 

“I just needed somewhere to crash for a week, and—”

“A week?” Ingrid’s voice raises two octaves with her rage. “You’ve been here a _week_?”

“Not a complete week, no!” says Sylvain, still trying to placate, his hands still held out as if Ingrid might pounce and throttle him. “I’m just staying for a couple more days, but it’s not—”

“Not _what_?” she asks. “Not a big deal?”

“Ingrid,” Dimitri tries, voice wobbling, but Ingrid barrells right over him, marching forward. Felix moves to stand at Sylvain’s side, leveling a glare at her, but she doesn’t even notice, jabbing a finger at Sylvain’s chest.

“You disappear for two whole years, and then show up like it’s _not_ a big deal?”

“Ingrid—.”

“It was my choice not to tell you two,” Felix states, arms crossing. Ingrid whirls on him, and he pins Sylvain with a look when he opens his mouth, ready to martyr himself on Ingrid’s furious rage so Felix doesn’t have to deal with it.

Except Felix hasn’t had a two year break in dealing with Ingrid. He’s used to it.

“I didn’t want you two knowing about it,” he continues, voice surprisingly level.

Ingrid’s face is red from the exertion of yelling. “Why not?” 

“Because it wasn't your business,” Felix says, quirking a brow when her face contorts. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, that he wanted Sylvain to himself, that he didn’t want the others to know, because he knew this would happen. “And I knew you’d yell.”

Ingrid’s lips twist. She makes a noise, dropping her hands to her sides. She turns and marches away, back to the entranceway, just to take a moment to compose herself. Sylvain’s shoulders relax, minutely, as Dimitri steps forward. 

“It’s good to see you, Sylvain,” he says. “I’m glad you’re well.”

Sylvain smiles. “Yeah, I could say the same to you, buddy.”

“I’m glad you two have shown up, uninvited,” Felix drawls. “On a Tuesday night.”

“Dimitri said you weren’t feeling well,” Ingrid states, looking far less angry, but still miffed. “We were checking in on you.”

He can feel Sylvain’s eyes on him, but he just shifts his weight, propping his hip out as he rolls his eyes. “I’m ditching class tomorrow, that’s not unheard of.”

“But you said you weren’t ‘feeling up to going,’” Dimitri says. “Which is unexpected, from you.”

“I’m helping Sylvain move his furniture from his apartment.” Felix looks to Sylvain, who’s just blinking at him in surprise, before turning back to Dimitri. “Besides, nothing too important is happening tomorrow. Now, are you two done with your interrogation, or do you plan to rifle through my tea stash?” 

They stay for tea, unsurprisingly. Ingrid sits in the armchair while Sylvain takes a spot on the ground, sitting atop of Felix’s discarded blanket while he and Dimitri sit on the couch. Ingrid’s interrogation has only truly begun by the time they’re settled. She asks after every aspect of Sylvain’s personal life, why he’s at Felix’s, what’s _happened_. By the time that Felix pushes them out the door, it’s late, and Ingrid has added Sylvain into their group chat to make sure he just doesn’t up and vanish again. 

Sylvain lets out a long sigh before laughing to himself as soon as Felix has relocked his door. 

“That could’ve gone worse,” he says, plopping back onto the couch. 

“Could’ve gone better,” Felix drawls. He pushes his legs aside to settle in the corner. 

Sylvain hums, tilting his head. “So, when were you planning on telling me you were offering your help?”

Felix shrugs, looking away. He’s actually curious to meet Sylvain’s friends and offering to help him move is as good a reason as any. Better than getting drunk at karaoke night, at least. Sylvain chuckles, nudging Felix with his toes.

“I appreciate it. It’ll make it easier than just with Hilda. Her brother loves me, but it’ll still take a bit with just us.”

Felix makes a non-committal noise. “I wanted to let you sleep in, anyway.” He ignores the heat that licks through his face at the admission. “You haven’t had the chance to, yet.”

“Aww, _Fe_ —.”

“Don’t,” he says, rising to his feet, ignoring the smug smile on Sylvain’s face. “I’m taking a shower.”

****

**.**

Felix isn’t used to sleeping in. He wakes relatively early, still drowsy in the comfort of the blankets and Sylvain’s arms wound around him. He stays awake, watching the sunlight start to filter in through the slivered part in the curtains. The sunlight is kind to Sylvain, casting him in a warm glow, showcasing the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. There’s a few strands of unruly red hair falling into his eyes, and Felix, still half-asleep, moves his hand to gently brush them away. 

Then his brain catches up with the movement and he makes a noise, drawing his hand back, squirming out of Sylvain’s grasp. Sylvain makes a soft protest, only just starting to stir, but Felix manages to detangle himself to get out of bed. Sylvain stays where he’s stretched, still feeling blindly for Felix’s warmth. Felix leaves him, gathering his clothes up and slipping out of the room and into the bathroom to get dressed.

He’s tying his hair up when he steps out of the bathroom, glancing in the bedroom. Sylvain’s on his back, an arm tossed over his eyes. Felix huffs a small breath, easing the door shut to leave him to rest. 

The breakfast Felix makes isn’t extraordinary, but Sylvain must smell the food cooking. Halfway through Felix getting everything ready, the bedroom door creaks open, and he hears Sylvain’s footsteps pad to the bathroom. 

He emerges a few minutes later, while Felix sets their plates down at the island and moves about to get them drinks.

“Good morning,” Sylvain says, jaw cracking with a yawn as he stretches. “You’re spoilin’ me.”

“As if you haven’t kicked me out of my own kitchen to make every single meal I’ve eaten for the past five days,” says Felix. He pauses. “Good morning.”

Sylvain smiles goodnaturedly, sitting down to graciously eat the plate of eggs and bacon. Halfway through their meal, his phone buzzes, and Sylvain hums as he grabs it to read the text.

“Oh, sweet, Claude says I just need to email the apartment with information for a background check.” Sylvain sets his phone down, pushing a hand through his hair. “That won’t be too difficult. They’re not even looking for paystubs, because of Claude’s parents being his co-signer.”

Felix knows very little about the aspects of apartment hunting. His father had handled everything, and Felix had just sort of shown up. He doesn’t bring that up, though, keeping quiet after breakfast as Sylvain rummages around to send his information via his laptop, which has been tucked into the knapsack the entire time he’s been here. 

While Sylvain is busying himself with that, Felix checks his student email. There’s been nothing but positive responses from his professors, who just remind him of office hours if he can’t get the notes from others in the class. 

It’s almost noon by the time they’re ready to go to Sylvain’s apartment, which is for the best, according to him. Hilda can scarcely be able to drag herself out of bed for her work shifts, and Claude had declared his intentions to take a nap before Sylvain showed up.

Felix hardly ever ventured to the southeast side of the city. Even when they were kids, the farthest east they would go would be to the corporation Dimitri’s father ran, the building standing tall in the midst of the rich, white collar portion of the city where skyscrapers loomed more than any type of greenery. 

Sylvain had said he lived closer to the edge of the city, where the suburbs start running into the cityline, and the apartment building they pull up to straddles the line perfectly. It scales upwards more than any buildings in Felix’s complex do, but there’s definitely a difference of residents. Felix spots more signs of children on the balconies than anything at his apartment, which houses a good portion of the university’s student population. 

He follows Sylvain easily inside the building, heading to an elevator that definitely won’t fit any piece of furniture they’ll need to lug down. Felix wonders how he got it all up as he pushes the button for the fourth floor. Sylvain smiles nervously when they reach a door and he pulls his multicoloured lanyard out to open the door. 

“Welcome to my soon-to-be _not_ home,” Sylvain says, waving Felix in first. 

The apartment is smaller than his own, a studio layout. The main room is just beyond the kitchen, and there’s another door to the right that Felix knows belongs to the bathroom. The main piece of furniture that Sylvain has is a large bed, tucked away behind a folding screen. There’s a large console table, holding an assortment of video game systems, a large TV, and a camera set up. Felix barely remembers Sylvain mentioning that he would do art streams on occasion before everything had gone to shit last week. The only other big piece of furniture is a dresser, shoved haphazardly in the corner. The entire place is tidy, completely spotless. Even the bed’s made. It _feels_ like Sylvain, smelling slightly of citrus as Sylvain breezes in and gets straight to work. 

Felix helps out where he can, but Sylvain’s meticulous in how he wants things packed, which leaves Felix standing in the main room, nursing a glass of water as he glances around. Sylvain’s kneeling on the ground, wrapping cords up carefully, rubber bands lining his wrist. Felix watches him, taking a sip of water, ignoring the buzzing in his pocket from text messages. He knows they’re from Ingrid, and he has his doubts that whatever in them is _pleasant_. He doesn’t have time to dwell, because there’s knocking on the door. 

“Ah, shit, that’s got to be Hilda.” 

“I’ll grab it,” Felix says, watching with mild amusement as Sylvain tries in vain to detangle himself. He goes to the door, opening it without checking first, and stops short when it swings open. 

There were a _lot_ of things Felix had been expecting of Hilda. From what Sylvain’s said, she’s vain, but genuinely nice, and while he knew she had worked that morning, he expected her to be _dolled up_ , as Sylvain described. And she is. The woman that stands in front of him is dressed like she already knows she’s not going to be doing any heavy lifting, pink tinted sunglasses pushed on top of her pink hair. Pink hair, which is the exact same shade that his future brother-in-law's hair is. 

That same brother-in-law, who is standing behind her. 

Next to Felix's brother.

Felix’s brain lags, trying to process just what’s happening, as his shoulders and back tense up in surprise. He spots the same expression of confusion flicker across both Hilda and Holst’s faces, but Glenn speaks before anyone else has the chance to.

“Felix?” 

The incredulous tone in his brother’s voice snaps Felix out of it. “Oh, I hate it when I’m right,” he mutters. 

Glenn’s attention is no longer on Felix, though. He whirls on Holst, the tail of his braided ponytail whipping around his face. “Who are we helping move furniture?” 

“Sylvie,” Hilda answers, tilting her head, staring at Felix. She blinks, lips pursing. “Wait, this is your _brother_?” 

“Sylvain,” Felix says, answering Glenn’s question despite Hilda already answering it. “You’ve been volunteered to help Sylvain.”

“Sylvain _Gautier_?” Glenn asks. He turns back to Holst. “You know Sylvain Gautier?” 

“He’s one of Hilda’s best friends!” Holst says, still staring at Felix in bafflement. “I had no idea he knew your brother!”

“Sylvie, I didn’t know you knew Holst’s brother-in-law!” Hilda calls, pushing past Felix to head into the apartment. 

“I— _what_?”

Felix tunes the sounds of Sylvain and Hilda bickering out as he turns to his brother, and future brother-in-law. Neither are looking at him, instead watching each other warily. Glenn’s giving Holst a _look_ , one that Felix has seen used whenever Holst has done something wildly outrageous in his opinion. The last time Felix had seen it used was when Holst had claimed his little sister was far cuter as a child than Felix was when they were out to lunch with Rodrigue. Felix had snorted a laugh, because he knew he looked like an angry, little gremlin as a child, and not much better as an adult. Glenn had disagreed. Loudly. 

The look that’s pinned on Holst now, though, is accompanied with, “I thought you said this guy is an _artist_.” 

“He is,” says Felix, before Holst can dig himself a grave. “You should see some of his work.” 

“Sylvain Gautier?” Glenn asks, brows furrowing as he looks to Felix. “Really?” 

Felix shrugs, trying not to get too defensive. The last thing he wants is Glenn starting an interrogation about this, but he can already foresee the future. Glenn’s going to ask Dimitri, who will cave, immediately, and tell him that he kept Sylvain returning a secret for four days. Glenn’ll go to Ingrid next, to see what she’s already done about it, and then circle back onto Felix to tell him how stupid it was to do that when Sylvain had been all of their friend, not just his. 

“Y’know,” Sylvain says, from the depths of the apartment, where Hilda’s voice has been cut off, “I appreciate the offer, really, but I think I can handle this.” 

_“Sylvie_ —.” 

“Nah, it’s totally fine! I’ll call Raph, or something, and—” 

Glenn flicks his eyes in a roll so hard his entire body weight seems to be thrown into it. He pushes past Felix with no decorum, leaving Felix in the doorway, feeling suddenly like his entire world is falling apart. Again. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Gautier. You asked Holst, and Holst asked me, and I agreed. There’s not even that much stuff here.”

Felix turns, leaving Holst still standing in the hallway outside the door. Sylvain looks to him, the panic disappearing as soon as he sees Felix’s expression. Felix nods, hearing Holst a few steps behind him, and Sylvain smiles. 

“We’re just going to Claude’s, right?” Holst asks. “Shouldn’t take more than one trip with the truck.”

“I’m just moving the big stuff,” says Sylvain, obviously relieved to have an excuse not to meet Glenn’s piercing, blue stare anymore. “Anything that can fit in the hatchback is staying here for now.”

It doesn’t take long to move the bed frame and other assorted furniture down, but it’s painful watching it. The stairwell isn’t wide enough for four people, so it ends up just being Holst and Sylvain carrying the furniture down, Hilda staying in Sylvain’s apartment to leech his sparkling water stash, while Felix and Glenn follow behind them to make sure no one gets killed. 

He rides with Sylvain in the hatchback while Holst drives his truck to Claude’s apartment. There’s a long stretch of silence between them, before Sylvain breaks it.

“I honestly had no idea _Glenn_ was Holst’s fiancee.”

“I’ve never met Hilda before,” says Felix, “but when you described her, I. . .had suspicions. Whenever Holst brings her up, though, Glenn tries to beat him in the _whose younger sibling is the cutest_ battle.”

Sylvain laughs. “Yeah? How’s that go?” 

“I look like an angry cat who got dunked in a water tank.”

Sylvain makes a noise. “You do _not_!” he protests. “You’re very handsome, Fe.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’d win if I had to pick between you and Hilda,” Sylvain insists.

Felix rolls his eyes. “She sells jewelry?” he asks, just to change the topic.

“Oh, yeah. I can give you her twitter handle, if you want to look at her stuff.”

He doesn’t, particularly, but since it gets the conversation off of him, he accepts. As soon as he types in her username and pulls her profile up, he feels a deep unsettling sensation in the pits of his stomach. He expected Sylvain in the list of _followers you know!_ section. He was not expecting to see Annette and Mercedes’ accounts. 

“Annie and Mercie follow her,” he says.

“What? No way.”

Felix snorts, shaking his head. “Glenn didn’t mention his future sister-in-law being a jewelry seller.”

“Has he mentioned anything about her? I feel like you would’ve pieced it together sooner if he had.”

“Not really,” Felix admits. He tilts his head to slide his gaze to Sylvain. “He _did_ say she worked with a bunch of clowns, though.” 

Sylvain snorts a laugh, pushing a hand through his hair before grabbing the wheel again. “Well, that’s not inaccurate, I suppose.” He lets out a long breath, flexing his fingers against the wheel. “I never asked Holst that much about his fiancee.” 

“Not even his name?” 

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m not getting a wedding invitation, so what did it matter? Figured I’d see the pictures from Hilda.” 

Felix makes a soft noise. “Get a suit.” 

“. . .What?” 

“You’re coming with. I’ll add you as my plus one.” 

_“What?”_

Felix looks at him. “You don’t want to?” 

“Wh—no!” 

“The wedding’s in three weeks. We can manage it. I’ll have Annette and Mercedes take you out clothes shopping.”

“Hilda will freak if I go with anyone besides her and Dorothea,” Sylvain says. “If I drag my two scary lady friends, you can bring your two lovely ones, and then we can ditch them as soon as I have a suit.”

Felix snorts. “Sure.” 

The conversation dwindles, but the silence is companionable for the rest of the drive. The apartment complex Claude lives in is similar to Felix’s, spread out, two-story buildings, deeper in the suburbs than city proper. There’s a man standing at the bottom of a set of stairs, hands shoved in the pockets of a bright yellow hoodie. Sylvain pulls into a spot further than where Holst parks, and Hilda’s already hugging the man when they approach. 

Sylvain gets a quick hug before he introduces Felix. The man’s eyes sparkle with amusement, lips curled up in a lazy smile as he stares Felix down.

"I'm Khalid," the man offers, alongside a hand for Felix to shake. "Though you can call me Claude—everyone does, except my mother."

Felix nods, taking his hand in a quick shake.

“Y’know, I’ve heard a _lot_ about you, Felix,” he continues, smile growing wolfish. 

Sylvain’s arm slings around Felix’s shoulder before he has a chance to ask, and his tone is bright, but forceful when he speaks. “Hey, Claude, do me a favour and shut up please? I love you, but _please_ , today has already been wild.”

“Yeah, Claude!” says Hilda. “Felix is Holst’s future brother-in-law!” 

That startles him, enough that Sylvain can dart away to get to work helping Holst. Claude lives on the second story of his building, but his stairway is wide, and everything fits through the doorway easily. Sylvain’s room is what was Claude’s office, up until mid-morning, when he had moved all of the spare furniture out. The desk that had left imprints in the carpet had been moved to the dining room, temporarily until Claude has a chance to _reconfigure_ his bedroom. 

There’s a decision made, ultimately by Sylvain himself, that he’ll stay at Felix’s until the background check clears and he’s allowed to be on Claude’s lease. As they’re getting ready to leave, Glenn’s eyes boring holes into Sylvain’s soul, Holst offers to take them all out for a late lunch, early dinner.

Hilda speaks before either of them can reject the offer, pushing Holst by his shoulders towards his truck. “Just because Felix knows Sylvie doesn’t mean I’m letting you let Glenn harass one of my friends,” she says, lifting her chin. “Take me home, I have work in the morning.” 

“It’s—. Hilda, it’s three in the afternoon,” Holst says.

Hilda pins him with a look. “You know I can still cry on command, right?”

“Alright, _fine_ , Sothis! Get in the truck.” 

Glenn is still staring, only relenting when Felix lets him tug him into a hug. He glares at Sylvain, but shakes his hand anyway, ignoring Sylvain’s meekly offered thanks for his help. When they’re back in Sylvain’s car, safely watching Holst’s truck pull out of the parking lot from a distance, Sylvain lets out a laugh, weak and wobbly.

“You really think he’s going to want me at his wedding now?” 

“Oh, he won’t have a choice,” Felix states. “I’m telling my old man first. He won’t suspect it’s you yet and be too thrilled at me bringing someone to let Glenn say no.”

“Isn’t it Glenn’s wedding?” Sylvain asks, though he’s smiling.

“Tell that to Hilda, and see how that works out.”

****

**.**

Felix wakes up long before his alarm is supposed to go off. While it’s Sylvain’s only other day off for the week, Felix knows he’ll wake up when Felix leaves, and get breakfast ready while Felix is jogging. It’s nothing they had discussed, but Felix had gotten used to Sylvain’s habits. 

A stupid thing, truly. Come Friday, Felix’s apartment will be empty again, Sylvain living on the other side of the city. 

Right now, though, Sylvain is warm, nuzzled into Felix’s throat. It’s a domestic feeling, waking up in his arms, knowing he’ll be making food for Felix before tidying up, probably listening to his bubblegum pop while he does so. 

He reaches back blindly, fishing on the nightstand for his phone. He shuts his alarm off, drawing back just so Sylvain shifts his face away, far enough that Felix can watch him. It shouldn’t feel as final as it does, but the weight of this being the last morning he has to be lazy with Sylvain settles in his body.

He knows, rationally, that Sylvain will not fully leave them, not again. Ingrid’s made certain of that, and Sylvain seems to be putting in the effort to smooth things over with the others. 

_This_ , though, will not be something he’ll get anymore. Waking up with Sylvain’s arms wound around him, holding him like he’s the most precious thing. Having Sylvain _there_ , constantly providing him with a source of validation Felix hadn’t realized he had needed. Sylvain will wake up before him tomorrow morning, and when he gets back from class, he’ll probably be moving the rest of his things to Claude’s. The background check is supposed to clear tomorrow. He’ll be all ready to move in. 

He wants to offer, though it makes no sense for it to be accepted. Sylvain’s job is too far away from Felix’s; Claude’s apartment is only a fifteen minute drive from the store. There’s no true reason for Sylvain to stay, either. They’re not—. Felix hasn’t _asked_ him for anything. Sylvain hasn’t offered. From Sylvain’s perspective, everything that’s happened has been platonic, borne from a two decade long friendship where they had hardly been separated. Sylvain won’t change his routine just for Felix. There’s no point.

His thumb finds the ring at the base of his index finger, fidgeting absently with it for a moment as he looks at Sylvain, still deep in sleep. He brushes loose strands away from Sylvain’s face, watching the way his lashes leave shadows on his cheeks, the way his lips stay slightly parted. Felix wants to kiss him. The thought should unsettle him. It doesn’t surprise him, from the age of sixteen to twenty, Felix had had an embarrassingly large crush on Sylvain. It had been part of the reason he and Annette hadn’t worked out past one awkward movie date. Then Sylvain had left, and Felix had been determined to bury his feelings away with it. Having him back, _here_ , with him, _in bed_ , was far too much for him to process. 

He hasn’t realized his hand is still against Sylvain’s cheek until he shifts, tilting his chin. The press of lips against his palm startles him, and Felix pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. Sylvain makes a sleepy noise, arms tightening around his waist to tug Felix flush against him. 

His eyes are open, bleary and lidded, but open. Sylvain smiles at the indiginat noise Felix makes when he tries to shift make. 

“Mornin’,” he murmurs. “You look upset.” 

“I’m upset because you won’t let me go,” Felix manages to snap, face alight. 

Sylvain hums, curling himself around him. He throws a leg over Felix’s, heel digging into his calf as his chin digs into the crown of Felix’s head. “Mm-hmm, that’s why,” Sylvain drawls. “Not because I kissed your palm?” 

Felix makes a few stammered, angry sounds that could’ve been taken for protests. Sylvain just hums again. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for awhile,” he says, voice soft as he nuzzles against Felix’s hair. “I wanted to kiss you when I told you goodbye all those years ago.” 

“You—. _Stop talking_ ,” Felix says. “I can’t—. I _won’t_ —” 

Sylvain’s grip loosens. If Felix wanted to, he could slip out of his embrace. He doesn’t, though. 

“You’re going to leave again,” he snaps. “Why would I—? Why would I do that to myself?” 

Sylvain draws back, brows pinched as he looks over Felix’s expression. “I’m not leaving, Fe.” 

“You _are_.” He’s being unreasonable, but he can’t stop the dam from overflowing, the baseless accusations falling from his lips. “You’re going to move into Claude’s and probably change your number so none of us will be able to find you again.” 

“Felix—” 

“I _can’t_ —” 

“ _Felix_.” Sylvain pulls him closer, still looking at him in concern. “I’m not going to leave again. Even if I did, what makes you think Hilda wouldn’t immediately drag me out by the ear? Or even Ashe?” 

Felix huffs. His face is burning. He wants Sylvain to let him go, but at the same time, he doesn’t. “I don’t _know_ ,” he manages. “I’m not—. I’m bad at this.”

Sylvain quirks a brow, though there’s no judgment on his face. “Bad at what, Fe?” 

“Being—domestic. Wanting things. I don’t—get these feelings, often.”

There’s a long pause. Felix refuses to look at Sylvain, hands curled into fists between them. After the silence, Sylvain lets out a low breath.

“What do you want, Felix?”  
_You_ , his brain supplies. _I want you to stay_. He can’t ask that, though. Can’t willingly let Sylvain run himself ragged over Felix’s selfish desires. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Sylvain’s fingers tuck some of his hair behind his ear.

“Can I tell you what I want, then?” he asks, voice low.

Felix’s lips twist. He keeps his eyes shut. It’s as much of an affirmation as he can manage. Sylvain takes it as such.

“I want you,” Sylvain says, voice earnest, gentle. “I’m not great at dating, either, but I want that, with you. I know with the distance it would be hard, but it’s barely an hour, and people who are less stubborn than us have managed longer commutes.”

Felix lets out a shaky exhale, laughing roughly. “Stubborn, huh?” 

The smile is clear in Sylvain’s voice. “We’re both stubborn, and you know it. If you’ll have me, though, I want that with you, Fe.”

Felix cracks his eyes open. Sylvain’s eyes are full of naked affection, the smile on his face curling high enough to let his cheek dimple. He’s still sleep rumpled, looking like he belongs there. Felix’s face feels like it’s on fire, the blush spreading the burn from his ears down his neck.

“I—. I want you, too,” he manages.

Sylvain’s expression morphs to relief, unbridled joy sparking through his eyes. “Yeah?”

Felix grabs Sylvain with his hands on the side of his face before he can doubt himself. Sylvain’s eyes widen, briefly, but he makes no sound when Felix smashes his lips against his. Felix is _also_ bad at this, but Sylvain makes a noise that’s probably a laugh, his hand gentler against Felix’s jaw to guide him into kissing him properly, without their noses smashing, or teeth clacking.

“Ugh, your _morning breath_ is awful,” Felix mutters against his lips, kissing him again. Sylvain gives a breathless laugh, drawing away to press kisses against his cheek. 

“I can go brush my teeth,” he offers.

“No.” Felix’s voice is petulant, his hands tangling in Sylvain’s hair to pull him back to his mouth. “C’mere.” 

Their kissing isn’t heated. Sylvain stays him, slowing them down before Felix can get too _rowdy_ , but Felix is determined to make the most of it. When they part, both panting, faces red, Felix moves, bringing his mouth down Sylvain’s jaw.

Sylvain lets out a shuddering breath as Felix nips against his neck. He’s so tempted to bite, leave a mark, but refrains, settling for pressing searing kisses against all of his exposed skin. Sylvain’s fingers snarl into his hair, and he lets out another exhale. “Fe, _Fe_ , what about your jog?” 

Felix draws back, pinning him with a look. “Is that what you care about right now?” 

“I care about you not breaking your routine because of me,” Sylvain admits, though his pupils are blown wide. 

Felix rolls his eyes, pushing at Sylvain’s shoulders so he lands on his back. Delight fills his face when Felix swings a leg over his thighs to straddle him, and he leans back down. Their lips are only a hair’s breadth apart when a loud, obnoxious ringtone fills the room, startling them both. 

“What the—?” 

“Fuckin’— _Byleth_ ,” Sylvain snarls. He reaches blindly for his phone, thumb swiping across the screen. “By, if the store is _not_ on fire, I am going to get very mad at you.” Felix is close enough that he can hear a monotone voice answer, apologizing before calmly asking Sylvain if there is _any way_ he can show up for work because three people called out. Felix pins him with a look as Sylvain’s shoulders sag, and he rolls his eyes, swinging himself off of his lap. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—wait, hold on, Byleth, just—. _Fe_ —!” He’s scrambling up, reaching out, but Felix just smirks over his shoulder. 

“Go to work,” Felix says, already heading for his dresser to grab his running clothes. “We’ll finish this later.” 

“Byleth, you _owe me your firstborn_ ,” Sylvain says into the phone, before hanging up. He all but leaps from the bed as Felix grabs his bundle of clothes. “Can I get a kiss goodbye?” 

Felix rolls his eyes, but relents for a chaste kiss. “Your breath really does smell like shit,” he states.

Sylvain laughs, thumb brushing against the arc of Felix’s cheekbone. “I’ll be here when you’re back from class.”

His day goes by slowly, with him watching the time tick by. It’s unreasonable for him to be this desperate for Sylvain to be back, especially since he’ll be leaving for Claude’s. _It’s barely an hour_. Felix will have to look into the trains, to see if any drop by close enough. It wasn’t fair to force Sylvain to visit him every time.

He’s so busy trying to plot things that he barely notices Ingrid during class, doing her best to bore holes into him with her stare. She tries to catch him before he leaves, but he slips out of her eyesight, hurrying home. He checks as soon as he reaches the parking lot, noting with relief that Sylvain’s car is parked where it’s been for the past week.

He doesn’t do anything _special_ , but he does hurry his steps up the stairway. When he opens the door, he’s met with the muffled sounds of Sylvain’s music playing from the bathroom, the water running telling him he’s showering. 

He puts his things away, settling down on the armchair. While it hadn’t been raining, there had been a chill in the air on his walk home, and he wraps himself up with a blanket as he waits for Sylvain. He doesn’t have to wait long. He’s only just gotten completely comfortable when Sylvain’s music shuts off and the bathroom door opens. 

Felix glances over. Sylvain’s dressed in his sweats and an old band tee, but as soon as his eyes land on Felix, they light up. Felix looks back to his phone, determined not the blush.

"Hello, beautiful," he drawls.

Felix scoffs, rolling his eyes. The heat that rushes to his face is swiftly ignored. Sylvain pads over to him, footsteps light. His arms cross behind Felix's head as he leans down, and damp, red hair brushes Felix's forehead as Sylvain starts to press kisses against his hair.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Kissing you," says Sylvain.

"Kissing my _hair_ ," Felix corrects.

Sylvain pulls back with a huff. Felix is still scrolling through the cat sanctuary's newest kitten photos, but his phone is dropped with a yelp when a large arm slides under his legs. He manages to get a mangled, " _Syl_ —!" out before he's being lifted. Warm lips find his cheek, smearing messy kisses down along his jaw as Sylvain carries him.

"Put me down!"

He's deposited onto the island, and Felix tries to shift away, but Sylvain's arms wrap around his waist, pulling him flush against him. Felix's legs part around his waist, just so he's not awkwardly crushed against the bar, but it's a mistake, because Sylvain happily hums, and kisses him squarely.

He tastes like cheap tequila and cheaper hard seltzers, and Felix clamps his hands on either side of his face to pull him back. Sylvain goes, not without pouting, but Felix is busy inspecting his eyes. He's completely lucid. He just obviously hadn’t brushed his teeth post consumption. 

“You’ve been _day drinking_?” 

Sylvain quirks a brow. “Barely. I should’ve gotten some gum.”

“No shit.”

Sylvain flicks his eyes in a roll. “We celebrated cleaning up the apartment. Claude’s alcohol stores aren’t massive.”

Felix’s own eyes roll, smiling despite his better judgement. "Your mouth tastes like shit."

"Hilda exclusively drinks hard seltzers, babe, I can't help it. She’s the reason I’ve gotten used to keeping sparkling water on hand. The tequila shot was an additional bonus.”

Felix’s eyes narrow at him. “‘ _Babe_ ,’ huh?”

Sylvain grins, looking positively delighted, nodding as he leans back to press kisses lightly along his jaw. Felix rolls his eyes, fingers immediately tangling into his hair. “You _did_ promise we’d finish what we started this morning, though.”

Felix huffs, and tugs him back, hands going from his face to wind through silken waves. Sylvain moves happily, until Felix pulls away again. He doesn't leave him, though. Sylvain's lips move down his jaw, nipping lightly, further to peel down his sweater collar and bite.

"You—ah, fuck—Syl, you animal, this is so unsanitary, we eat on here!"

"Mmn, it's fine, I'll clean," Sylvain murmurs, breath hot against his skin.

Felix lightly kicks his thigh. "Disgusting. Take me to bed or go sleep on the couch."

Sylvain huffs a laugh, tongue searing against his skin as he licks his way back up to Felix's mouth. He presses a chaste kiss against his lips before his hands move from Felix's thighs to his ass, pulling him up. Felix's legs wind around him, arms locking around his neck as Sylvain lifts him off of the island.

"I hate how easy this is for you," Felix mutters, and Sylvain smiles, giving him a placating kiss as he carries him to the bedroom.

"I do heavy lifting all the time, Fe, you barely register as weight.”

“That’s definitely a lie,” Felix retorts.

“Let me be _big and strong_ for you, Fe,” Sylvain whines, before promptly dropping him onto the mattress.

Felix isn’t even given a chance to be outraged, for Sylvain follows half a second later, smothering him in kisses.

****

**.**

When Sylvain’s work alarm goes off, Felix clings to him as he shifts, trying to shut it off. Sylvain chuckles, gently prying himself from Felix’s grasp.

“I’ve got to go,” he murmurs, chuckling softly when Felix grabs at his hand. He takes it, bringing it up to his lips. He brushes a kiss against his knuckles, before leaning down to press one against his cheek. “Don’t worry. I won’t have a full answer from Claude’s place until this afternoon, so you’ll have to deal with me for one more night.”

Felix grumbles and Sylvain kisses him softly before he succeeds in detangling himself fully from the bed, Felix’s sleepy, squinty gaze following him the entire time. 

By the time his thrice-weekly lunch rolls around, Felix is fully braced for Ingrid’s interrogation. He hadn’t heard more about the subject from Glenn, but he doubts Glenn would instigate anything until after he heard Felix was dragging Sylvain to the wedding. 

Ingrid doesn’t fully interrogate him until after they’ve ordered their food. Dimitri is left as a mediator, trying to remain cheerful and neutral, hoping to smooth out any arguments before they start.

“So, what’s going to happen?” Ingrid asks. “If he’s not sleeping on your couch, he’s just going to vanish again, isn’t he?” 

“He works with Ashe’s boyfriend,” says Felix, idly stirring his drink with his straw. “And one of his best friends is Glenn’s future sister-in-law.” 

Ingrid stops short. “What?” 

“He knows Hilda?” asks Dimitri, brow furrowing.

“I thought Glenn mentioned that to you guys on Wednesday,” Felix says. He looks between them, the confusion on their faces mirror images of the other. He frowns, grabbing his phone to send a quick text to his brother before he looks back at them. “Sylvain knows Holst’s little sister, she works with him. The only person with a truck he knows is Holst, so when he was moving his furniture, he called Holst, and Glenn tagged along.” 

“I can’t believe Glenn didn’t tell us he saw Sylvain,” Ingrid huffs. “I wasn’t expecting both of you to be like that.” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. You have his number now, anyway. If you’re so worried about him disappearing, text him.”

Felix is glad for his turtleneck, as Ingrid laments while she does just that. Sylvain had left a trail of bite marks on his neck as soon as Felix had mentioned owning enough turtlenecks to cover them. Sylvain hadn’t hesitated for a moment when Felix said he _could_ leave marks. The ones on his aren’t nearly as bad as the one he had left on Sylvain’s neck, higher than any of his shirt collars went. Sylvain had fully encouraged it, even though Felix had gotten screenshots halfway through his first class of the day from Sylvain’s friends’ group chat, with hastiy shot photos of it from Hilda spamming through the texts.

He spends the rest of his day actually focusing on schoolwork. It takes more effort than it would have a week prior, but he can’t help his stray thoughts from going straight to Sylvain. When he finally arrives home, it takes less than thirty seconds for Sylvain to pounce. 

Felix can smell food baking in the oven, distracting him from Sylvain’s wandering hands. While he is more than okay with what appears to be Sylvain’s plan for the evening, he has schoolwork, Sylvain has _actual_ work in the morning, and the drive to the store is still fifty-five minutes away. 

Sylvain’s mouthing against Felix’s jaw when Felix points these things out, and Sylvain’s nose butts against his pulse.

“My next day off isn’t until next Wednesday, Felix!” he whines, his lips still against the skin of his throat. “I wanna catch up on all of our missed time.” 

“Your _self-imposed_ exile,” Felix reminds him. “Insatiable.” 

Sylvain draws back with a huff, resting his forehead against Felix’s.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. His eyes are like molten honey, full of affection. “But only for you.”

Felix’s eyes narrow. “Yeah?” 

Sylvain smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Only for you,” he repeats.

****

**.**

“We’ll meet you there in like half an hour,” Felix says, climbing from the back of Mercedes’ car.

Mercedes says goodbye as Annette waves, both promising to see him and Sylvain soon. As soon as the car’s pulled out of the parking spot, Felix makes his way across the lane to the store front.

He’s never actually been _inside_ the store Sylvain works at, but he figures it’s not that much different. Sylvain’s been vivid with his stories, and Felix knows which way to go to wh he plans to hunt down. Sylvain’s shift doesn’t end for another twenty minutes; Felix isn’t planning to find him just yet.

He passes a row of aisles full of makeup products, following the sound of a familiar voice. Felix narrows his eyes, spotting a familiar face at the end of an aisle. Hilda's in the middle of chatting with another worker, but when she spots him, her eyes practically _glow_ with mischief, lips curling up in a feline smile.

“Felix, oh my gosh!” Hilda exclaims, voice sickeningly sweet. “It’s _so_ good to see you. Have you met Dorothea yet?” 

“No,” Felix states, not even looking at the other woman she’s talking with. “You know why I’m here.”

Hilda rolls her eyes. “You are so grumpy,” she says. She glances at her companion. “This is Holst’s future brother-in-law, but that’s neither here nor there. Felix, this is Dorothea.”

Felix flicks his gaze over to her, unimpressed by her falsely pleasant smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Felix.”

“Sure.” He turns back to Hilda, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hilda.”

Hilda rolls her eyes, puffing her lips out in a pout. “ _So_ grumpy,” she repeats, shaking her head. She unclips a radio from the apron tied around her waist, smiling a feline smirk the entire time. She doesn’t waste another moment, though, drawling into the device. “Hey, Sylvie?” 

“Wait, he’s here for Sylvie?” asks Dorothea, but there’s only a brief pause before Sylvain’s voice crackles across the line.

“What’s up, Hilda?”

“Can you come to beauty for me, please?” Hilda asks, voice still saccharine. She gives Dorothea a little finger wave as she walks off, still frowning at Felix. “I have a customer that needs special help!” 

Another voice sounds behind Felix at the same time it comes across Hilda’s walkie. “She’s trying to be sly about it, but your boyfriend’s here, Sylvain.” 

Felix glances over his shoulder to see Yuri, smirking. Sylvain’s voice echoes across both devices. “Oh, then I am totally taking my last break right now.” 

There's a brief bout of silence before an exasperated voice crackles through the line, "Enjoy your break, Sylvain."

Dorothea is back around the corner in an instant, eyes honing on Felix as she approaches quickly, but Yuri steps up between them. Yuri throws a smirk at him over his shoulder, slipping the radio in his hand on his hip as he pins Dorothea with a look. "Don’t you dare, Dorothea, you’re supposed to be sorting freight right now. Hilda, go take your break, I'm covering."

"Aw, aren't you the sweetest," Hilda drawls.

"I have so many questions," says Dorothea, her eyes never once leaving Felix.

"Ah, ah, songbird, get back to work. Don't harass the customers."

"He doesn’t count as a customer if he's Sylvie's _boyfriend_!"

"Yes, he does." Sylvain's voice comes down from another aisle, and Felix glances up as he sweeps towards them. He has a vest tossed over his shoulder, matching equipment to the others’ on his hip. He grins when Felix meets his gaze. "You are definitely skipping class." 

"I had a test today, and I finished early," he says. "I'm ditching my lunch with Dimitri and Ingrid."

Sylvain laughs. "I'm going to get blamed for that."

"Probably."

"And your afternoon class?"

Felix narrows his eyes. "Buy me shitty tea, and maybe I’ll tell you."

Sylvain chuckles. "Alright, alright, let's go."

There's no line at the in-store coffee kiosk, and Sylvain orders for both of them. Before he has a chance to ask after Felix’s reason to visit, Felix voices his own question.

“How are you taking a break twenty minutes before you have to leave?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Wasn’t planning to take a second break,” he answers. “But then you showed up.” He grins. “So, what do I owe this special visit?” The grin vanishes, replaced quickly with a pinch brow. “Wait, how the hell did you get here?”

“Mercedes drove,” Felix states, lifting his hand to press his thumb against the furrow in Sylvain’s brow. “She and Annette are getting pastries and then meeting us to go clothes shopping for you.”

He jolts. “Wait, that’s happening _today_? Hilda is going to freak out on me if I tell her I went without her.”

“She’ll get over it,” Felix states. He thanks the barista who hands them their drinks and walks with Sylvain outside. “This is the only afternoon Annette and Mercedes have free time before the wedding, and that’s only because Dedue is covering the gap at the bakery for her.”

Sylvain hums, taking a sip of his coffee. “I see it’s time for spoiling.”

Felix flicks his eyes in a roll. “The wedding’s in a week and a half, you need clothes for it.”

Sylvain smiles, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Felix’s. “Sure, sure, I’ll get pretty for you, Fe, you just have to ask.”

Felix’s face immediately fills with heat, and he splutters, getting more flustered when Sylvain laughs. “I’m _teasing_.” He tilts his head, considering. An eyebrow raises, and he gives Felix a lavish wink. “But I’m also not.”

His lip curls in a sneer, trying to disguise the colour that floods to his face. “You’re _insatiable_.”

“For you? Definitely.” Sylvain pulls his keys out of his pocket, nodding towards where his car’s parked. “I’ve just got a few things to handle and then I’ll be ready, alright? You can face the wrath of ‘Thea, or you can go—.” 

Felix doesn’t give him a chance to finish his statement, snatching the keys up from his open palm. Sylvain smiles, leaning over to brush a kiss against his forehead. He hands Felix his half-drank coffee when he draws back.

“I’ll be right out! I promise!” 

Felix rolls his eyes, watching with amusement as Sylvain gives him an over-the-top wave before ducking back inside the store. He blames the heat that fills his face on the warm drinks in his hands, the warmth from his tea filling his chest. 

Unfortunately, he can only blame pure affection for the smile that curls his lips up.

**Author's Note:**

> listen;;;; listen;;; this is my Too Much gene at work. 
> 
> you guys can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616) if you want!


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